


Second Chances

by Blue_Finch



Series: For Better or Worse [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Finch/pseuds/Blue_Finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written before season three so some things have been jossed totally so canon divergence lol.</p><p> Finished and rewritten with 3,000 more words than the original...WOW on me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Spring Day

**Author's Note:**

> Lol yeah I screwed up. Here is the beginning of the finished product.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Richards awoke to a chilly Thursday morning, the room cold enough that it made him shiver and his bare arm to goose-flesh. The sunny, beautiful and unusually warm spring Wednesday had turned back cold during the night. John opened his eyes, rubbing one with his free hand and then blearily looking out their bedroom window to see a light dusting of snow on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John awakes next to his husband.
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> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/12326.html)

John Richards awoke to a chilly Thursday morning, the room cold enough that it made him shiver and his bare arm to goose-flesh. The sunny, beautiful and unusually warm spring Wednesday had turned back cold during the night. John opened his eyes, rubbing one with his free hand and then blearily looking out their bedroom window to see a light dusting of snow on the ground.

The younger, yet graying dark haired man knew he should get up and turn the heat back on before his partner roused from his slumber too. Harold Richards rarely, if ever, was one to laze in bed and a frigid room would not keep him there. The cold weather bothered the man’s back and hip so, so much that he could barely move at times, yet the older man never complained, was always up, showered and dressed within the half hour after rising, temperature be damned.

Instead, John just snuggled closer, burying his nose and face in the crook of the neck belonging to the man snoring softly beside him. They had fallen asleep, like every other night, spooned together, Harold on his good side, John’s left arm underneath, the fingers of their right and left hands intertwined.

It never ceased to amaze him that every morning for the two years they had been married the elder Richards had never let that grip go. If John tried to disentangle their fingers his husband just held tighter, even in his deepest slumber. After so many attempts at trying, John had just given up, even the times when his left side had fallen painfully asleep; he had even affectionately started calling it their love lock.

Well this morning was no exception. John just resigned himself to the fact he wasn’t going anywhere, the heat would have to wait. He’d just keep his sleeping mate warm with his own body. With his right leg covering the shorter man's and right arm across Harold’s chest, he pulled his lover even closer.

It was still early, the sun having just come up, an hour or so before they both would get up to start their day. Not enough time to try to sleep again, so John just laid there hugging Harold to him, his right hand lazily running fingers through the soft, thick, brown and gray hair covering his spouse’s chest, at times mouthing soft kisses and nuzzling the scarred neck, while dreamily thinking.

Last night, the soft kisses had grown harder, hungrier; their undressing was hurried as their passion mounted, they simultaneously pushed and pulled each other towards their king sized bed, and then fell onto it. They had rutted against each other only a few minutes before he split slicked Harold’s hardened manhood and rolled onto his stomach.

John’s body welcomed the smaller man’s weight upon his back and Harold’s cock as he slowly pushed into him. Harold slid his hands under John's shoulders, grabbing them and pulling himself in gradually until his balls touched his mate's ass; then he waited to move again.

Only after John impatiently urged him on, Harold started making love to him, using his elbows to push himself away and grasping his partner's shoulders to pull himself back in, unerringly hitting John’s sweet spot every time. The older man's rhythm started out slow and gentle, but as the pressure built began going faster and harder with each stroke. Grunting and sweating, calling each other’s name obscenely until John felt the man covering his back tense and spill himself.

Harold rocked slowly into his lover as the spasms lessened. John came hard soon after. His husband's cock and the velvety warmth of his seed spilling into John’s inner walls had brought him off.  It was their usual love-making ritual and the younger Richards loved it, needed it.

Yes there were times Harold wanted his spouse’s cock inside him and John couldn’t refuse him that; it was equally satisfying for the both of them. However, most of the couple's love-making was the younger, stronger Richards being penetrated by his partner that brought them the most intense climaxes. In John’s mind he belonged to his husband and the smaller man lying on top of him, entering him, claiming him was the physical affirmation of that.

John closed his eyes, trying not to shed the tears welling up in them. He was lucky to have all this now; once again he had foolishly thought he knew what the person he loved needed, and then tried to push that person away. If not for Harold’s persistence  — Harold trusting his own heart and seeing what was in John’s while not believing what the other man told him — their life now might not have ever been….

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued


	2. Ordos China

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Reese sat in a building of the abandoned city, Ordos, China, alongside his partner Kara Stanton. They were supposedly waiting for darkness to signal their whereabouts for extraction from the city. They had retrieved the laptop sold by someone in their own government to the Chinese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in Ordos and their aftermath.
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> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/12747.html)

_Ten years ago…_

John Reese sat in a building of the abandoned city – Ordos, China – alongside his partner Kara Stanton. They were supposedly waiting for darkness to signal their whereabouts for extraction from the city. They had retrieved the laptop sold by someone in their own government to the Chinese.

At the back of Reese’s mind the directive was always lurking, he had been ordered to retire his partner, Kara. There would be no extraction for him until he carried out that order.

Reese was also thinking about Jessica, the woman he loved: still did. John had left her to do what he thought was his duty after the Towers had fallen. His duty eventually led him to working for the CIA with Kara as his partner.

John didn’t know if Stanton’s owned warped sense of duty had trained him, molded him to what he was now or if the darkness was already there waiting to be let out. Regardless, why Reese had become what he was now, John had given up Jessica; he let her walk away in an airport to a life without the former soldier in it, to marry another. The trained CIA-assassin didn’t believe he deserved someone like his former girlfriend now.

Reese was also thinking of the woman’s phone call to him, Jessica’s unspoken plea for help, and his promise to get to her as soon as he could. That promise was delayed because they were sent here. No personal emergencies John was told, you have no one now.

Stanton got up to throw out the flares signaling their position. John was ready to take the shot, kill his partner, but he couldn’t do it. How could he go to Jessica, to help her, with fresh blood on his hands from killing his CIA partner? Either good or bad, he had been through hell with Kara for years now.

Instead John tried to warn Kara, before she suddenly turned and shot him. Maybe Stanton had plans to leave him bleeding in that building alone and didn’t have it within herself to actually kill her CIA partner. If she had, Reese would have been dead. “Sorry John,” was all she said.

It was now obvious to Reese that both of them were being betrayed. “I got the same orders as you,” John wheezed with a feeble laugh while leaning against a wall – hand clutching his wound. As Kara looked up realizing then what he knew to be incoming fire from aircraft not sent to extract them, John fled.

The CIA operative was half running, half stumbling as fast as he could to get a safe distance away before collapsing; the explosions rocked the ground under him, lighting up the night sky. Reese didn’t know how long he lay there: was it minutes or hours?

Reese heard the approach of some vehicles; the op jumped up, ran over, and into ditch alongside the road leading into the city. He hid there until long after the vehicles passed by. John was lying low in the ditch, hiding, trying to think what he could do to get out of this mess, when several men approached. The trained assassin took them out before they even knew he was there. One of those men had a radio.

It took some time but John adjusted the frequency to get through to ... Rangers never leave a fallen comrade ...

Reese was healed from his gunshot wound; finally home in America, the CIA none the wiser. The betrayed former operative was in New York on the subway heading to New Rochelle. John thought it best to go to the hospital where his former girlfriend worked.

John walked up to the nurse’s station and asked for Jessica. Reese’s world fell apart as the nurse on duty there told him the woman he’d left behind was dead. It was an accident the woman at the desk broke the news to him, only Reese's instincts told him otherwise; he felt certain Jessica’s death was anything but. He stumbled blindly away running into a man in a wheelchair on his way out.

An anguished Reese broke into the Arndt house and waited for the man he knew was responsible for Jessica’s death. John watched some video recordings, in some he saw Jessica happy with her new husband – Peter and in others a pretense of happiness, something entirely different showing in her eyes.

When Arndt walked through the front door into the living room, Reese confronted him. John hadn’t intending on harming the man but when Peter raised the fire place poker and swung at the intruder in his home asking questions…

Reese was again riding the subway to New Rochelle after the op had foolhardily contacted his old handler in the CIA, Mark Snow, to get answers and maybe return to the agency if there had been some kind of mistake. John had barely escaped the welcoming committee Snow had waiting for him. When the twice betrayed man reached New Rochelle once more he went to the city’s cemetery and Jessica Arndt’s grave; the grieving man silently asked for her forgiveness and then disappeared into New York City’s homeless population………… 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued....


	3. The Beginning of John Reese and Harold Finch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was going to be cold tonight, not cold enough to freeze to death, but cold enough to make John feel miserable if he spent the night in the abandoned building the transient had called home these past months. So here the vagrant Reese had become was riding in the subway car keeping warm, nipping occasionally at the whiskey bottle, trying to slip into an alcohol induced haze once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapter starts awhile back but to have an ending there needs to be a beginning 
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> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/12992.html)

 

It was going to be cold tonight, not cold enough to freeze to death, but cold enough to make John feel miserable if he spent the night in the abandoned building the transient had called home these past months. So here the vagrant Reese had become was riding in the subway car keeping warm, nipping occasionally at the whiskey bottle, trying to slip into an alcohol induced haze once more.

Reese drank enough tonight, enough to make most men pass out, but he became fully aware of the five young men entering the subway car and instinctively knew they were trouble. The bum John was tried to make himself unnoticeable, to not appear to be seeing what was going on, even though he watched them through lidded eyes hassle the two black men that were already in the car. The two gang-bangers didn’t want to fight and left.

Reese appeared to remain oblivious even as the leader noticed him and walked over. The punk grabbed the bottle, and after a moment John let go of it. But the idiot wasn’t ready to stop at that. His buddies got a silent signal to attack. In less than a minute, it was over. They were on the floor groaning from injuries the ex-CIA operative had inflicted, and their leader with John’s hand around his throat.

The ex-assassin stopped himself; he wasn’t going to kill again; something deep inside Reese kept him from ripping out the guy’s throat. John let go. They were still staring at each other when the police arrived and arrested them all.

While in the interrogation room with a Detective Carter, as she introduced herself, John tried to answer the policewoman’s questions as little as possible. Yes Reese was lost; as Carter had perceived. When she took the cup to get his fingerprints, John wondered if maybe it was best to let the agency come get him, let them finish something the booze hadn’t.

When the detective left, cup covering her fingers, Reese waited for some officers to come back and take him to a holding cell where he would await his fate at the CIA’s hands. The transient never expected the high dollar lawyer to appear and to bail him out before that happened.

The well-dressed attorney escorted him outside to a couple of hired guns and abruptly left. Reese could have dealt with them and left those men lying on the ground next to the Lincoln they had arrived in, but curiosity got the better of him. John got in the car and peacefully rode with them.

The sun was just beginning to rise and there was a cold wind blowing off the river, when John got out of the car after it had pulled up under a bridge. One of the muscles for hire told him to get out, their employer was waiting.

There was a lone figure, small in stature, waiting there in the cold; his short brown hair was ruffled from the wind and his face slightly reddened from the cold. So this was the man who bailed him out. This man wanted to be called Mr. Finch and addressed John as Mr. Reese – the name the CIA had given him. Finch knew it was the name John went by now although there were other aliases and John's real name. There wasn't a hint of deception that John could see in the eyes behind Finch's glasses or hear in Finch's voice when he said, “I know everything about you, Mr. Reese.” Somehow the strange man knew about the government betraying John and about about Reese’s death wish now.

The man called Finch analyzed the former soldier as a man who needed a purpose, a reason to live, and Finch had one for him if John so chose. Reese desperately wanted to believe in this man – the deeply ingrained instinct for survival compelled him to grab at some invisible lifeline the man with the glasses was throwing to him – so he went along with Mr. Finch in the Lincoln back into the city. John’s shaky belief in the man disappeared the moment the stranger told him he wanted a woman followed.

 _Why did I come with this guy?_ Reese thought to himself, there is no purpose or cause left for me. This Finch is just some spoiled rich fool who thinks money can buy everything; the woman in question probably dumped him and the man wouldn’t let go. John told him as much and walked away leaving the two goons trying to right themselves after a push from John into one another and a surprised Finch watching the retreating Reese.

Reese spent the rest of the day pan-handling; he accumulated enough cash and coins to buy some shaving cream, disposable razors, and a cheap bottle of whiskey. He spent the rest on a cheap flop for the night.

While roaming the streets begging for handouts, the ex-operative had decided he wasn’t ready to give the CIA the satisfaction of pulling the black hood over his head and making him disappear. Reese had been CIA long enough to know what that meant. The despondent man still had no reason to live nor cared to, but John wasn’t going to let the agency get their hands on him. Reese still had a death wish, but it wouldn’t be granted by an agent like Snow or one of his people.

Reese cleaned himself up, wanting to temporarily wash away the homelessness. He could hide from them all: the police, CIA spooks, and this Mr. Finch – whoever he was. No John thought while drinking from the bottle and before he drifted off that he would just lay low for a while …

John awoke to the sounds of something crashing and a woman’s screams. ‘ _What the hell?’_ He was zip tied to a bed in a hotel room, not in the flop house where he had passed out. Reese would have to find out why later; the woman in the next room needed his help. The former agent smashed the lamp into the mirror, used a glass shard to cut through the ties, and then burst through the door.

It was a trick, an audio recording was playing, there was no woman, and Finch sat in a chair close by the table. John was irate at being fooled. He barely heard the man talking about how he had foreseen knowledge of things, about that woman’s death three years ago – days before it happened, and how Finch had been incapable to do anything to stop it. The stranger told John again how the former operative could help him save the lives of others and not be powerless to do anything like when John couldn’t be there save Jessica. That caught John's attention.

Reese just snapped when he heard that slamming the man against a wall. John shoved Finch's body against it with his own and with a forearm under the other man's chin covered Finch's throat. The former assassin could have easily killed him then. Rage coursed through John, but he felt something else too. Even though he was angered with this man Finch, Reese also felt a kind of connection with him. Maybe it was in Finch’s eyes: the bravery, the honesty, the lack of fear. “I’m not the government, Mr. Reese. They lied to you. I never will!” Finch rasped out; Reese’s forearm was still pressing against his windpipe. John released the gasping man.

As Reese backed away he still felt it. The connection was intense, strong, like John somehow had found a missing part of himself. The now hopeful man continued to listen to Finch trying to convince the former CIA agent to help, starting with the woman the bespectacled stranger had had pointed out to a disbelieving Reese that morning. Finch's eventual pleading demand really wasn't necessary; John had already made up his mind to help.

The former soldier did need a purpose and a reason to go on. If the other man believed in his cause so much that he’d risk death at the hands of the trained killer he’d sought to hire, then John believed in it: in Mr. Finch. How could he not?

An operative once again, the recent derelict from the streets started on his first mission for his new boss while learning Finch had resources, cover identities for John, and intelligence surveillance that rivaled anything the CIA had. In the end they had found out the woman, DA Diane Hanson, was not being threatened: she was the threat. Reese saved the brother of a man attacked and killed while in custody; Reese also stopped the murder of an ADA, his son, and the life of an ex-con being set up for the murder by a group of dirty cops under Hanson’s employ.

John also found out Finch was not just wealthy but brilliant. He had built a super computer, known as The Machine, capable of tapping into, well, anything, and using the data it gathered to find out dangers to the general population and send that info to the government. The computer itself was in the government’s hands now, but there had been a side effect so to speak.

The computer could also pick out single acts of aggression. TM secretly sent its creator a warning, but only as a number, in most cases a social security number. It was up to them to gather what information by whatever means necessary to determine victim or perpetrator and for John to use his skills to intervene.

After DA Hanson was arrested – the dirty cops either dead, arrested, or now under John’s control – he and Finch met again under the bridge. Reese could have left, never looked back, and started a new life. But John chose to stay, for however long until death stopped him or both were truly dead.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued


	4. Changes?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Harold, Harold Finch, the alias Reese found out his mysterious new employer went by now, spent the next six months saving numbers or stopping them. The Machine’s creator remained aloof, secretive, and untouchable. Of course those only made John want to know all the more about the genius. That’s what the former CIA agent told himself, he just needed to know more about the man he now worked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Employer/employee to friends?
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> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/13199.html)

John and Harold — Harold Finch, the alias Reese found out his mysterious new employer went by now  — spent the next six months saving numbers or stopping them. The Machine’s creator remained aloof, secretive, and untouchable. Of course that only made John want to know all the more about the genius. That’s what the former CIA agent told himself, he just needed to know more about the man he now worked for.

That is until the night Detective Carter, whose life the op had recently saved, was deceived by Reese’s former handler CIA agent Snow and gave away John’s location. Unbeknownst to the police detective, Snow set up another ambush; John was shot barely escaping with his life by fleeing down a stair well.

Reese knew this was the end. The dying man called Harold to tell him thanks for giving him the job and even if no one else knew, the former soldier would die going down helping people. Yes his new boss and handler was right, all John ever really wanted to do was help people. After becoming CIA, Reese had lost that somewhere along the way, the helping; the reclusive billionaire returned that to him.

It was a call to say goodbye and thank you: that was all. Never did he expect his distant employer to say he was coming to help while almost pleading for John to hold on. No one had put their life on the line for him – not Kara, not Mark – yet, here was this paranoid recluse who treated John with disdain more times than not risking his life now to save the gravely injured former assassin.

Reese tried to warn his boss to stay away. Harold could be killed. No: John couldn’t let another person he loved die. Loved? The slowly dying man haltingly descended the stairs; his life was gradually flowing out with the blood; his thought process was steadily shutting down; yet one thing still remained surprisingly clear. John Reese was in love with Harold Finch; he had been from the moment he’d slammed the startled man into the wall of that hotel room and looked into the face of the bravest person the former soldier had ever met.

Reese couldn’t physically save Harold, but if he could just make it to the other man, maybe they could get away before agent Snow found them. One more flight, then the door, he could make it…

The rapidly fading Reese pushed his way out the stairwell door, trying to not fall down, as he heard the Towncar hitting the speed bumps too fast and then screech to a halt. Just a few more feet and John was there, falling into Finch’s surprisingly strong arms. He tried to say, “We have to go!” but thought _‘This is a good place to die, in your arms Harold. Do you know I love you?’_

Reese heard the door behind him open and Detective Carter’s shocked, “You?” John turned his head to see her gun pointed at them. All the wounded man could do was shift his body slightly to shield Harold if she took the shot. Did he feel those arms tighten protectively around him?

Surprisingly Carter only watched Finch holding up his wounded partner for a few tense moments before she holstered her gun and helped John into the car. Harold limped as fast as he could back around to get in and they were speeding off into the night……

John didn’t know how much about what happened after….”I love you Harold, I don’t want to leave you…”

”Just hold on John, I love you too, you have to hang on for me, I can’t lose you now…”

When John’s mind was no longer fogged by drugs or the pain from his gunshot wounds, after he was beginning to heal from them in one of the billionaire’s safe houses, Harold moved him to an apartment to further recuperate, or so he said.

Neither man mentioned the shooting or what happened afterwards. John wasn’t even sure if Finch had said any of those things. Harold wasn’t so aloof now, he treated John differently, even actually seemed to like him. But love John?

Regardless, whatever the other man’s feelings for him were, John had no doubts what was in his own heart. He loved Harold Finch. Where that came from he didn’t know, he’d never even been attracted to another man before in his life let alone fallen in love with one. Yes John didn’t just love Harold; he was in love with him. If his reclusive friend never returned that love, that was fine. John planned to spend whatever time the operative had left in their mission loving the paranoid genius – even if it was in secret – and being whatever Harold needed him to be.

There were more numbers, as they had started calling them. Most of those people were in some kind of danger, victims: those they saved. Some were perpetrators: those they stopped. Occasionally they got some justice for the fatalities Finch hadn’t been able to save. Number by number they both healed. John from being the monster he had become and Harold from the guilt he felt from failures before John became his partner.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued


	5. Harold Takes John Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold drove them to an older two story home in the suburbs. It had light blue siding over a red brick foundation. The house had chain link fencing around a small front yard of green grass surrounded by borders and beds of flowers just beginning to bloom. A privacy fence surrounded what looked to be a huge back yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold finally admits his true feelings when John gets hurt once more.
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/13414.html)

_Eight years ago_

Now two years later John Reese was even more in love with Harold Finch then he ever thought possible. John never dreamed or hoped Harold would ever return those feelings.

If Reese harbored any secret hopes that they would ever be more than friends, those were dashed when he had found out about Grace Hendricks. Harold had given up his former fiance to keep her safe from those that may harm her because of TM. There was no doubt that Finch still loved her. Harold watched over her, secretly protecting her; John saw how it pained the man even being reminded of her.

Those words John thought he had heard Harold admit as he drove them away after Snow’s last attempt to kill the former agent were now dismissed as a pain and blood loss induced hallucination.

It didn’t matter; Reese continued loving Harold in secret, accepting that Finch would never love him in return. His partner had become John’s entire life, something the mysterious machine itself found out when Reese refused to continue with their mission when its creator was taken by the mysterious hacker Root.

Then the virus happened; The Machine was free. Harold admitted that events he had set in motion three years ago by getting a laptop — the laptop John had been sent to Ordos to retrieve — containing code embedded with a virus into the hands of those who wished to control The Machine thereby tricking them were in some ways the catalyst to the bad things that happened in John’s life.

Reese admitted to himself and to Harold that his life had changed because of a choice John made in an airport seven years before; what happened after wasn’t Harold’s fault. In retrospect John forgave himself because although he had made that decision seven years ago, what happened later wasn’t his fault either.

And when both men were wondering if another number would ever come, the phone rang. It was The Machine, they had a new number. Seemed some things were back to as normal as they could be, well with one exception. The betrayed ISA agent Shaw had joined the mission.

The computer genius had worked his magic; the agents saved the number with some difficulty. It was when John came limping back to the library with Shaw’s help that things took a dramatic turn for the _**better.**_   Harold gruffly dismissed his newest operative telling Shaw in no uncertain terms her help was appreciated but no longer necessary, he would take over now.

When the newest mission member was gone, Harold started unbuttoning John’s shirt with trembling hands. 

“It’s okay Harold, just some bruised ribs; my knee’s kind of messed up where someone clipped me from behind; this is nothing, I’ve had worse; I’ll be fine.” 

Harold broke down; he pulled the op into his arms, almost sobbing how sorry he was Reese had been hurt, he didn’t know what he would do if he lost John now.

The former CIA assassin could not believe what he was hearing or feeling being pulled into Harold’s trembling arms. Taken completely by surprise John had to ask Harold what it meant. His friend shakily admitted he had cared for the stronger younger man for so long now, but he had kept his true feelings from John.

Finch admitted he had hidden his feelings not because he didn’t think Reese cared for him; he knew John cared. Harold professed he had hidden his love to protect his own heart. He believed John would hate him, leave him or both when the other man eventually found out about the things Finch had done, though unintentionally, had led to what happened in Ordos. “I still can’t believe you forgive me.”

Harold’s eyes filled with tears when he told John he couldn’t live if he lost him now. Reese had been his life since that day Harold had risked his own to rescue John after the ex-CIA agent was ambushed by Snow on a hospital parking garage rooftop.

“I knew that day I loved you John. The entire drive there all I could think about was that my life wouldn’t matter without you as my partner.”

John’s memories though brought up a different rooftop, Harold refusing to leave, either diffusing the bomb vest John wore, or being blown away with him, _‘Why didn’t I see then?’_ Those words spoken after he was shot were not delusions. Harold loves me too. John's heart rejoiced. “I never knew, never believed…but there’s Grace?”

“I love Grace dearly, I always will, I’m just not in love with her anymore. I was falling out of love with her and in love with you. I was confused, about my feelings for you, another man, I never thought I would ever…, I felt guilt over not being in love her anymore and turmoil loving you.  Worst of all was the heart wrenching awareness that I could lose you when you found out about what I had done. So I tried to protect myself, being secretive, keeping you at arm’s length. I can’t do that anymore. I love you John.” 

Harold smiled hopefully then.

“Finch, don't you know?” John reached out to caress the older man's face “You will never lose me, I’m yours. Since we sat on that bench overlooking the river that day two years ago, I have belonged to you.”

“Good John, can we go home now? I mean home, my real home.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Harold drove them to an older two story home in the suburbs. It had light blue siding over a red brick foundation. The house had chain link fencing around a small front yard of green grass surrounded by borders and beds of flowers just beginning to bloom. A privacy fence surrounded what looked to be a huge back yard.

And it fit in with the rows of housing belonging to hard working middle-class owners, seemingly not a house whose owner could buy the whole block for cash and not put a dent in his pocket.

Harold pulled into the driveway, waited on the automatic door of the garage to open, pulled into the garage, and turned off the engine. Finch turned to John then, “I know you know the place.” Both men thinking of the tracking device Harold had in his glasses for months after John rescued him from Root.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you ‘ **lived** ’ here.”

“Yes this is my home, my real home; I bought it a few years after IFT got off the ground. Let’s go in, I’ll treat those ribs and your knee properly. And then we’ll talk.” Harold then gave the John the smile with the slightly up-turned lip that had the younger man’s heart skipping a beat. Oh it’s more than talk we’ll do Reese hoped.

They entered the house through a door in the garage, right, up three steps and through another door into a mid-sized kitchen. It had slate colored marble counter tops, black appliances, and a floor of white with grey flecked tiling, off white walls, a small table seat-able for four, a fax marble top and chairs to match the entire kitchen itself.

Harold led him through the kitchen, left down a hallway extending off a spacious living room, with dove gray plush carpeting and stairway ascending to the second floor alongside the room’s right wall.

John followed the older man down the short hallway into a spacious bathroom on the left side, to the right inside the bath was an open door leading into what was probably the master bedroom, and the place the real Harold slept. Reese just made a cursory glance, I’ll see it in better detail later he was sure.

For now Harold had John sit on the wide edge of a bath/whirlpool combo, the silver jets extending from the tub’s sides, steps wide enough to sit on and lower oneself to the tubs bottom. “I had installed, when I first came home after months of rehab. It helps with the pain sometimes.”

Harold pulled a small gray leather stool from under the vanity like portion of the bathroom counter and sat down. Dual sinks, a vanity. John banished thoughts Finch had remodeled the bathroom at one time thinking of Grace coming to live there.

Finch pulled some bandages from a drawer that rivaled any emergency room supply cabinet. He chose some kind of pills from the many bottles, satisfied with his choice and offered them to John with a glass of water from the water purifier equipped faucet. “For the pain, John” he told him.

After Reese had taken the pills Finch asked him to remove his shirt. John heard the hitch in Harold’s breathing when John was bare from the belt up.

“You’ve seen me before … Harold.”

”Not like this John, I haven’t, not under these circumstances.” Finch started wrapping Reese’s bruised ribs. He let out a shaky breath and sighed.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: their first time together before their world turns sideways


	6. Harold Traxler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My name is Harold Traxler; I was born on Sept 7, 1954, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. My father was Charles and my mother was Muriel. She died when I was two. My father raised me alone until I turned 5 and he married my stepmother, Rachel. I had three older step brothers, Richard, Jack, and James. And I loved them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter has been totally jossed by events in season three.  
> Harold had no family except his father. But for this story's sake Harold did.
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/13821.html)

“My name is Harold Traxler; I was born on Sept 7, 1954, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. My father was Charles and my mother was Muriel. She died when I was two. My father raised me alone until I turned 5 and he married my stepmother, Rachel. I had three older step brothers, Richard, Jack, and James. And I loved them all.”

As Harold slowly wrapped John’s ribs he continued. “I wasn’t much for farming, even at eight, I loved to tear things down and build them up. Richard was the farmer’s son; Jack wanted to be a doctor, and James, who knows what he is now. He left the day he turned 18, I was 14.”

“When I was 15, the computer age was just beginning, and I had to have one. Of course most then were humongous things taking up a whole floor in the building of whatever was using it. Banks, government agencies, you name it. I built one quite a bit smaller out of circuit boards and an old terminal the hospital in Cedar Rapids threw out.”

“I never realized what I was getting into when I ousted the Arpanet the government was trying to keep from the public. The government wanted my young head on a platter. To protect my family, I left when I was 16, changed my name, and entered MIT as Harold Wren; I think you know the rest, John.”

“I sent them my share after IFT made its first million, that’s when Nathan found out what I had done. Harold Wren was a lie; I was hiding from the government. I was 25 then. I never told him what my real name was though, about my real family and Nathan never asked to whom or where the money went, and he kept what he knew about me a secret until the day he was killed.”

“I paid off the farm’s mortgage, put money in the farm’s accounts for new equipment, and whatever was needed to run the farm efficiently. I think they knew it was me somehow. I paid for Jack’s medical schooling, even though Jack was already in his late twenties, and set up a college fund for Jack’s son, Ethan. Will and my step-nephew were even classmates in medical school.”

“I did visit my father once 30 years after I left home, he was dying, I think it gave him peace seeing that I was indeed alive, and he died holding my hand and my mother’s. She died not two weeks later, but she never told anyone about me ever being at my dad’s side.”

“Now you know about me. The rest is out there in the house, John, feel free to look, while I shower and change. I want you to see me, see what I am now, and decide if you really want me.” The last words were spoken as Harold’s voice trembled.

 _‘Oh God, Harold, I love you and want you, don’t you know that? After all we have been through, you are still afraid?’_ John mentally tried to reassure him. John got up though and left the bath, giving Harold his personal space, for now.

John went to the living area; he viewed pictures and plaques hanging on the walls, those displaying IFT’s successes and accolades emphasizing Nathan being the face of IFT. There were photo albums amongst the tomes of Harold’s multiple floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

These contained pictures of a more personal nature not meant for public eyes — Harold and Nathan at IFT working together or Harold attending the young Ingram family outings. There were ones of Harold with Will at different ages; Will’s mother and father were no longer in the photos.

John looked at pictures of an awkward nerdy teen in glasses with Nathan in their MIT years. In the rest, the photos were a progression as years past — IFT growing, Nathan and Harold aging. _Oh Harold, how can you ever think I wouldn’t want you?_   John wants him so badly now: the sweet, handsome man Harold had become.

John put the album back; he walked back down the hall towards an open bedroom door when he heard the sounds of the shower being turned off and moments later that door’s opening.

Harold, wearing a light blue robe lightly tied at the waist, stood next to the king sized bed which he was eyeing nervously. He turned his head and smiled that crooked little upturn of lips as John knocked at the door frame. John’s heart did a flip at the unspoken invitation and went over to stand next to him.

“I’m afraid I’m at a loss what to do next, I know what I need but how to go about it, I…”  Harold again turned his head to eye the bed.

“Shhh, Harold I know. I have, not with anyone I cared for before but I know, ” John moved behind him, wrapped his arms around Harold's waist, and began nuzzling at or kissing his neck.

Harold pulled away and turned to face John. “Before this goes any farther you should see what you’re getting. I’m not…I’m not…”

“I know you have scars. I do too, you’ve seen them. Does that make you want me less? Will these make you want me less?” John undid the fly of his suit pants, pulled both pants and briefs down, and stepped out of them. He then stood before Harold nude except for the bandaging around his waist.

What Harold saw was a myriad of scarring on the other man’s hips, thighs and calves – jagged lines, surgical scars, divots, star bursts, and a particularly nasty red gash from hip to knee on Johns right outer thigh that looked to have been sewn up with a cobbler’s awl.

“Oh, John…no, never could I not want you.”

“Then trust me, let me see you.” John moved close to the shorter man, untied the robe, slipped his arms under it around Harold’s back, and pulled him closer. As John ran his hands up and down Harold’s sides, lightly skimming over the scars he felt there, John bent his head and kissed Harold's lips.

It was tentative for both of them at first before each opened up to the other. Alternately tasting and being tasted, neither could get enough of the other. John finally had to pull away; breathlessly he whispered, “Trust me.” John reverently slid the robe off Harold’s shoulders and away.

“I see you, all of you, and I want you still. Can’t you feel how much?” John pulled Harold back to him and bent in for another kiss. “Feel me, feel me wanting you” John rasped huskily as both their now rigid cocks rubbed against each other.

After some much more hungrier kissing and hands desperately touching the other, they both moved onto the bed – Harold lying on his back, neck propped on his special pillow, and John prone by his side. They kept kissing and touching each other everywhere until both were ready to explode. “John, I’m ready to…” Harold moaned.

“In time," John promised, yet thrumming with need he gasped, "Only for now turn on your side and face me.” When they were lying face to face, John reached between them, wrapped his hand around both their cocks to begin stroking and pulling them both together. After a few of John’s strokes, Harold reached in and stretched his hand around them too.

It only took a few heated strokes and rutting into each other to bring both men off, white strands of semen covering both their stomachs.

“John…I’ve…never…felt…so…good…I…love you.”

“Neither…have...I…Harold…I love you!”

Both men were lying on their backs, catching their breath when Harold panted, “John ... I still need...to show you something.”

“Later,” John gulped. "I'll get something to clean us both up and then we'll talk, okay? John said when he was able to breath, pecked Harold on the tip of his nose, got off the bed, and went into the bathroom.

When he came out, Harold had his cellphone out and was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I think we have a number, John. I guess we should… we should…” Harold stammered at a loss for words.

“Get dressed and go do our jobs. This will keep, Harold. Don’t worry. We have the rest of our lives to discover everything about and love each other,” John said with conviction.

It only took a few minutes for each man to clean up and dress. In ten they were in the Lincoln, John behind the wheel, and heading towards the Library.

They were in the Town Car waiting at the red light when the car was struck from behind. The force of the impact pushed the vehicle into the intersection, where it was struck again. John looked over at Harold; the other man's face was covered in blood. John tried to reach out a hand towards him before he succumbed to the darkness...

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up....Not every rainbow comes out of a cloud with a silver lining...just a bigger storm.


	7. John Wakes From His Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John opened his eyes gradually to see bright fluorescent lighting. Closing his eyes from the glare, he became aware of hushed voices around him. There seemed to be two near him, one distinctly female and the other male.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John regains consciousness after the crash
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/14027.html)

John opened his eyes gradually to see bright fluorescent lighting. Closing his eyes from the glare, he became aware of hushed voices around him. There seemed to be two near him, one distinctly female and the other male.

The male voice was giving instructions to the female in regards to medications during post-surgical recovery. Reese could barely make out the words, his head still fuzzy from anesthetics.

Reese was in a hospital he realized as the fuzziness somewhat cleared. He was in hospital bed, the safety rails up, the sounds of medical monitors beeping near his head. John slowly opened his eyes again. He looked down at his right hand, at the IV and the drip lines going into it. Moving his head slightly he could see his left arm covered from elbow to wrist in a blue brace. Both arms were prone to John’s sides above the creme colored blanket covering the rest of his body. His hands and right forearm were paler than the blanket they rested on.

Yes, definitely a hospital. The male voice belonged to a surgeon apparently. The female voice was most definitely the recovery room nurse as she bustled about watching the monitors and checking the bags of solutions hanging from a hook on a pole attached to an IV dispenser.

John moved his head slightly to look around. The bed he was in was the only one in an area just large enough for it, all the medical equipment, and one lone recliner placed in a corner next to the windows. Was he in a private recovery room? The walls were pale blue; windows to his right were shuttered against the bright sun light trying to filter through. The door to his left was now closed.

The nurse noticed her patient's movements and came to the side of the bed. “Good you’re awake. My name is Heather. I’ll let Dr. Pradipta know you are conscious. He should be back here shortly.”

John tried to ask, but his mouth seemed to be filled with saw dust. All he could croak out was, “Harold?”

It was in that moment that the memories of what had happened, why he was in a hospital, became all too clear. Reese could hear the sounds of metal colliding with metal and of shattering glass once again. He remembered the pain he felt as his body was buffeted about while still being held in check by the seat belt restraints. And then there was the stillness, more agonizing pain, and looking over at Harold, reaching for him. Then there was nothing. It all came flooding back.

Heather, knowing her patient was still groggy from the anesthetics, reassured John he would be able to speak better in a few moments. Dr.  Pradipta would be back to check on him soon and the surgeon could answer all of his questions.

Reese then tried his best to focus, to clear the haziness from his mind, and to swallow down the cotton that seemed to cover his tongue. He had to know, he needed to find out about Harold. John really didn't care about his own injuries; the only thing that mattered to him was that he had to find out what had happened to Harold. Was he badly hurt, was he…dead?

As the anesthetics left his system, John became aware of the dull throbbing in his abdomen, his ribs, as well as his left arm. Heather noticed his reaction to the those drugs wearing off. She told him if it he was in too much pain to let her know and she would increase his pain medication.

When John was about to tell her no, he was fine, that what he really needed was to find out about Harold, Dr. Pradipta came back into the room, wordlessly dismissing the nurse.

After the nurse left, the first thing the doctor told Reese was that he was aware of who John was, who his employer was and their need for secrecy. It was Dr. Pradipta who had been alerted immediately of the accident. The surgeon did not understand how but he and others were contacted moments after the accident. That allowed them to be ready at the hospital when John and Harold arrived in the ambulance.

There were a series of emergency implementations that had been set up three years earlier if Mr. Wren was ever seriously injured again. Eighteen months later John Reese was included in the emergency protocol. That was all Dr. Pradipta knew about it.

Reese understood then that majority of the medical staff caring for John and Harold were retained by the billionaire for their outstanding medical reputations and their extreme loyalty and trustworthiness. No one outside the group would know who Harold Wren and John Reese truly were, only as the cover aliases Harold had created for both the men.

When John tried to ask about Harold, the doctor told him Mr. Wren was alive, but he really needed to discuss John’s injuries first, then he would answer Mr. Reese's questions.

Reese nodded his assent. The surgeon went on to tell John that he sustained severe trauma to his ribs and lower abdomen causing some internal bleeding and damage to his spleen.

Reese was told he also had five broken ribs, three of the ribs having multiple breaks. Another surgeon used titanium plates to stabilize John's ribs while they knit back together.

Dr. Pradipta had been able to repair most of the damage that caused the bleeding, but he had to remove John’s spleen. If everything went well Reese could be released in the next week. But John wouldn’t be able to exert himself for six weeks at least and it could be at least two to three months before he could resume his normal activities.

The arm that was in the brace was not broken but there were hairline fractures in both the bones of his forearm and Reese needed to wear it for a few weeks until the cracks mended themselves.

When the doctor finished speaking, the first thing John did was ask about Harold; Reese still had no concern about his own health.

Unfortunately, although they were no longer life threatening, his boss’s injuries were quite severe. Mr. Wren sustained trauma to the head and non-repairable damage to his left eye.

They did not know the severity or the the side effects caused by the trauma to Harold’s brain, as the doctors have to keep him in a medically induced coma until the swelling goes down.

As for Finch’s eye, the ER doctors could not save it. A plastic surgeon could repair the physical damage cosmetically in the future. Mr. Wren could eventually look like he once did, but he would be blind on that side permanently.

Harold also received some severe lacerations to his face, as well as his arms and chest. Mr. Wren wouldl need cosmetic surgery on some of these as well when the time comes.

The doctor tried to comfort John by telling him that even though both men had been severely injured they were both very lucky to be alive. From what the surgeon had been told about the horrendous crash, it was a miracle.

When Reese nearly pleaded to go see Harold, the surgeon asked him to give it a few days to get better himself, and then the physician would arrange for John to see Mr. Wren. Also in a few days there would be more known of the extent of the after-effects resulting from Harold’s head injuries.

The doctor the left the room and the nurse returned. She injected something in the patient’s IV and soon John drifted off to sleep.

Reese’s dreams were filled with cries from Harold for John to help him, “I can’t see!” When he tried to move, the pain in his gut became excruciating. Hearing more of Harold’s pleas, John tried to run towards the shouts; his belly was on fire, his chest tight, and his breathing labored, yet he had to help.

John kept hearing the cries but no matter how fast or far he tried to run the calls came no closer.

All at once he was in a bright room. Harold was there sitting on the floor with his back against a wall.

“I’m here Harold. I’m here now.” John reached out.

Harold turned his head towards the voice, his face covered in blood. “Who are you?”

Reese woke up shouting “It’s me, John!”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next: Harold's not in a good way
> 
>  
> 
> I have no claims to any medical knowledge. I apologize for any medical blunders.
> 
>  
> 
> feedback please? This thing isn't that horrible...Is it?


	8. John Finally Sees Harold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reese woke up in pain, covered in a cold sweat, trying to shake the remnants of the dream from his consciousness. He just couldn’t shake the feeling something was horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John wakes five days after the accident and finally sees Harold
> 
>  
> 
> I wrote this a year ago, so if Harold Bunting is a familiar name, it's the name Kmmerc also called her Harold in her recent fic 'Common Courtesy.'
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/14166.html)

Reese woke up in pain, covered in a cold sweat, trying to shake the remnants of the dream from his consciousness. He just couldn’t shake the feeling something was horribly wrong.

Reese looked around and seeing that he was alone in the room tried to get out of bed. He just couldn’t dispel the apprehension troubling him. John needed to get to Harold, but his body wouldn’t allow him to even to move. Reese hurt terribly; he was so weak it took everything he had in him to just sit up.

As Reese tried once again to move, a nurse hurried into the room. “Please don’t try to get up!” she scolded and made her patient lie back down. John pleaded to go see his friend but she was adamant _Mr. Richards_ should stay in the bed. “You can see _Mr. Bunting_ tomorrow!” she promised.

When she asked if he was in pain, Reese couldn’t deny it. The nurse left the room and came back shortly with a vial of medication. She drew a syringe of whatever was in the vial and injected it into the IV. Soon the John’s pain lessened and though he tried to stay awake he soon drifted back to sleep.

John woke up to the morning sun shining through the open shutters of his room. The first thing he felt was the pain, although it was noticeable, it was back to the dull throbbing he had experienced after the first time he regained consciousness.

Reese’s mind was now clear although he was still weak in body. The sense of foreboding his nightmares brought him had faded only a fraction. However, the feeling he was in a dream even while being fully awake was gone. The delirium that made those dreams seem so real was gone too.

Heather came into the room even before John had decided to use the call button. After the nurse asked him how he was feeling and checked his vitals she entered everything into the laptop that was on a stand next to the bed. She informed _Mr. Richards_ that once the doctor came into do his examination she was sure John would be ready to be taken off the IV fluids and have his catheter removed. 

She explained to him if he needed to use the restroom to call her and she would come in to help him. They did not want him to fall because of his weakened state.

The nurse also told _Mr. Richards_ someone from physical therapy would be in once the doctor gave the okay, to help John get up and move around; it was one of the things that would help get him out of the hospital sooner.

All John cared about now was being able to move around. Reese needed to see Harold. It was the only thing John could think about; the dreams he had had were still haunting him. 

When Heather was ready to leave the room she told John she was ordering him some breakfast, she was sure _Mr. Richards_ was hungry. John realized he was famished. He knew he had to eat something, get some of his strength back. Reese wouldn’t be any help to Harold if he could barely lift himself up out of bed.

It wasn’t but a few minutes later that Dr. Pradipta came into the room to check John over. Reese waited patiently while the surgeon gave him a thorough examination. Even though the doctor frowned at a few things it seemed he was pleased with John’s over all progress.

As Reese was being checked out, he noticed a whiteboard on the wall across from his bed. John saw the date; it was now the 21st, and the accident was on the 16th. He had been in the hospital for five days.

The doctor heard John’s astonished, “Five days?” At John’s negative nod to his question, “You didn’t know?”, he told John that he had developed a minor infection with a low grade fever. "Mr. Reese you have been in and out of consciousness for the past four days."

“Harold? What about Harold?” was all John could manage to say, shocked that he had been out of it for so long.

Dr. Pradipta tried to calm John down as best he could. The surgeon could tell there was something more between the two men besides employer-employee, friend for friend. The things he had to tell Reese would be upsetting.

John listened sadly as the doctor informed him, “I’m sorry, we were able to bring your friend out of the coma and he regained consciousness earlier this morning, but there were complications like we had feared. It seems Mr. Wren has no memory of who he is or anything that has happened to him. We don’t know at this time if it is temporary or permanent.” 

“I need to see Harold,” Reese told Dr. Pradipta, almost pleading with him.

“Once we take you off the fluids and the catheter is out, after you eat something, then I send in the PT. He will take you to see your friend.

Pradipta warned John that Harold was now sedated; the shock of waking up half blind and with no memory put Mr. Wren into a state of shock.

An hour later Reese was waiting for the physical therapist who helped him walk about for a few minutes and then at Reese’s insistence helped John into a wheelchair to take him to _Mr. Bunting_.

John thought he had prepared himself for the worst, but nothing could stop the sob that wrenched from his throat when he saw Harold.

Reese wouldn’t have recognized the man if not for the tuft of brown hair that hadn’t been shaved from the man’s head. Half of his face and head was covered in bandage; the rest was crisscrossed with stitched cuts and green to blackish colored bruises.

John asked the PT to leave them alone for a few minutes and rolled himself over to his friend’s bed.

John spoke quietly to its sleeping occupant, “I love you Harold, no matter what.” He then reached out and held Finch’s hand.

“Grace? Grace?” Harold mumbled in his drug induced sleep.

Reese started, pulling back on Harold’s hand, rousing Finch from his sleep.

Harold head turned towards John, his non-bandaged eye trying to focus.

“Who are you?”

John couldn’t speak, he just let go of the hand he had been holding.

It only lasted a few minutes. Harold tried to wake, to concentrate on John’s face, and then he drifted back to sleep with the sedatives again pulling him under.

Reese could only sob out quietly, “I’m John.”

John sat in the wheelchair next to Finch’s bed, just watching him sleep. Anyone looking at him would think Reese was being stoic, quietly watching his friend. But the hardened man, veteran of many covert operations, who could kill with his bare hands, was breaking down on the inside. The ex-op felt like his heart had been shredded into pieces.

The disfigured man in the bed was no longer the Harold that only a scant week ago had professed his love for John. To him Reese was a stranger. Harold hadn’t called for John in his sleep, but his former fiance. It shocked Reese at first, then the words pierced his heart like a dagger.

Eventually the PT came back into Finch’s room. All Reese could do was sob out, “Get me out of here.” 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's plan coming up


	9. Reese's Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reese focused blankly on the ceiling above him; thoughts of ending his life filled the broken man’s head once more. Everything that mattered had been taken away from him, shattered into a million fragments and there was nothing John could do to put anything back together. Finch didn’t need him anymore…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John gives up any chance of hope and happiness for himself but not for Harold
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/14561.html)

After the physical therapist wheeled John back into his own room, the PT helped his injured charge into the recliner, “Sitting up for a bit will do you some good. Just press the call button when you want to get back into bed.” The young physiotherapist unwrapped the long cord from around the bed’s safety rail. He placed the call device in his charge’s hand, told _Mr. Richards_ that he would be back later in the afternoon to help John walk around some more, and then left. John sat there just staring out the window, then not bothering to call the nurse, Reese crawled back into his bed, his stoic facade crumbling.

John Reese did something he hadn’t done since he was a child, even after Jessica’s death: he cried. The doctors said Finch’s memory loss could be temporary. Only in his heart John knew what the two had yet never really had the chance to act upon was now gone. His Harold was gone, their love was gone. Tears freely flowed down John’s face. Finch had no memory but had called for Grace, not him. John cried until no more tears could fall, until he felt dead inside.

Reese believed Finch had loved him, John never doubted that, but Harold had never truly fallen out of love with Grace. It was her name Finch had called out. Harold’s mind might not remember but his heart did.

Reese focused blankly on the ceiling above him; thoughts of ending his life filled the broken man’s head once more. Everything that mattered had been taken away from him again, shattered into a million fragments and there was nothing John could do to put anything back together. Finch didn’t need him anymore… _Coward! Harold will always need you._

Even though Reese’s whole world had fallen to pieces, he knew what he had to do. John had to help Harold as best he could, assist the gentle man in healing from his recent injuries and dealing with the old ones. No matter what had happened Reese still loved Harold; he would always be first in John’s heart. Reese could still care for him – love him – even if Harold never remembered their having been together.

Finch would need all the love and support he could get in the days, weeks, months or maybe years to come. If Harold being reunited with Grace was the best thing for the severely disfigured man, then John loved him enough to let him go.

The fact that doing so would destroy even the smallest chance of a life with Harold, tearing them apart forever became the last thing on Reese’s mind. That he too was injured, needed support, yearned for love as much as Harold was never something John would even acknowledge

Without any regards to his own needs, only Harold’s, John initiated his plan.

John found his cell phone in his bag of belongings, thankfully turned off and still fully charged, and called Samantha Shaw, then Joss Carter, and lastly Lionel Fusco.

Samantha Shaw came into Reese’s room a few hours later. “What in the hell happened to you? Last time I saw you, Finch kicked me out of the Library. I didn’t think you were hurt that bad.”

“Our car was accordioned. That’s what happened. Harold is here in the hospital too. He’ll live, but he’s not Finch, not anymore," Reese told her, “That’s why you’re here.”

“You are going to track down your buddy Hersh and tell him Finch is no help to them. Not anymore. Let the rest of them know they will leave him alone or they will have more than terrorists to deal with.”

“What happened to Harold?” Shaw narrowed her eyes at John. “Why do I need to track down Hersh?”

Reese sighed. “Finch suffered a severe head trauma; he’s got amnesia. He doesn’t remember his name, The Machine, the numbers or what we do. Harold didn’t even recognize me. His memory is a complete blank. Finch’s whole life has been wiped away. So now we are going to give Harold a new life, one that he deserves,” John looked hard at Shaw. “And you are going to be the messenger girl. You can handle them.”

Reese's voice was strained as he kept his feelings in check,“The people who have The Machine, our former employers, killed Harold’s longtime friend Nathan Ingram in a supposed terrorist bombing. That explosion almost killed him. Afterwards Harold gave up a woman he loved to protect her, Finch knew the government would kill them both too if they ever found out Harold actually built it. Now there is no need, the man who created The Machine is gone. Harold can no longer help them or expose them. We are going to make sure they leave him alone.”

Reese blinked and looked away, trying to hide the pain. “I have a plan to reunite Harold with the woman he gave up. He’s going to have some happiness in his life.” John returned his gaze to Shaw's. “Finch deserves that.”

Shaw, a little shocked and disbelieving, pulled herself together enough to ask, “What about the numbers? They will still keep coming. I don’t know Harold as well as you but they were very important to him,”

Reese nodded, “When you get back, you are going to take my place. I have someone in mind that can do what Harold did. No one can ever fully replace him, but this person will have to do,” John explained. “We still have Carter and Fusco’s help. I will make sure the mission goes on.”

Shaw prepared to leave and then stopped. “You know I can handle myself. I owe Harold and I will do my part. But what about you, what will you do?” Shaw asked as she prepared to leave the room.

“I’m going to make sure Harold gets that wonderful life and damn well make sure no one takes it away or hurts him ever again,” answered John, _even if I never will be happy again._

 ~~~

An hour later, Detective Carter, who was now their ally, rushed into John’s room. Worry and concern was etched all over her face.

“John, I’m sorry I didn’t know about the accident. Homicide cases involving drunk drivers very seldom cross my desk. I had no idea you and Harold were involved in a car collision. I only found out after you called, that another of the victims had died. I don’t handle vehicular homicide cases but I know who does. We’ll make sure the driver never hurts or kills anyone again.”

Her brows relaxed. “I was very concerned though when I had heard nothing from the two of you in a week,” Carter apologized, concern and relief tendered together in her words.

 “Harold is a good friend and I will do whatever you need me to do. Just ask, John. Fusco can’t be here, he is working on a case, but Lionel said to tell you whatever you need done to help Glasses, he’s in,” Carter told John conspiratorially.

“Thanks Carter. I need you to get in touch with Elias, I know you can. Here is what I need from him……”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened, Harold wakes up...... next


	10. Harold Wakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold woke up with a start. He was confused momentarily until he realized he was still in the hospital. Harold had regained consciousness sometime before surrounded by medical personnel except he didn’t know what had happened, where he was or even who he was. A nurse had to sedate him when he became upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold wakes up after days of having to be kept sedated.
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/14745.html)

Harold was reaching out, trying to use his hands to feel his way, to try and get up. Something warm and wet was running down his face, into his eyes, blinding him. He was also shouting for help. “Help me! I can’t see.”

A woman was laughing at him. Why was she laughing? “Grace? Grace?”

Another voice, not a woman’s, answered his cry for help, “I’m here Harold. I’m here.” Harold tried blinking the warmness from his eyes and turned his head towards the voice. Even through his blurred vision he could see the striking silhouette of a dark haired man with deep blue eyes standing next to him. Harold didn’t recognize the stranger yet somehow knew he should.  “Who are you?” he feebly asked before the wetness blinded him again. Through the darkness enveloping him, Harold heard the man answer from far away. His response sounding scared and hurt, “I’m John.”

Harold woke up with a start. He was confused momentarily until he realized he was still in the hospital. Harold had regained consciousness sometime before surrounded by medical personnel except he didn’t know what had happened, where he was or even who he was. A nurse had to sedate him when he became upset.

A doctor had examined him and questioned him, all the while calling him Harold. The name seemed right, was familiar somehow, but he couldn’t remember.

“What happened to me? Why can’t I see? Why can’t I turn my head? Who am I?” Frightened and scared his voice rose with every question he asked.

Harold tried to listen to the doctor’s answers, but panic seized him. “You were in an accident. You had severe head trauma, and lacerations to your eye and face. I’m sorry we couldn’t save the left eye……

You had spinal fusion surgery at some time in the recent past. We don’t know when or what happened, why you needed the fusion……

Your name is _Harold Bunting_ , that’s all we know. You need to calm down.”

Harold couldn’t calm down. He was frightened, very frightened, hurt, and confused. Crippled, half blind, hurting and with no memory of anything, the panic became a terror that so was overpowering, he started shaking violently, until, until, the sedatives pulled him into nothingness.

Now Harold was awake again. This was not the first time; he’d tried to open his eyes several times after the doctor had attempted to explain what happened.  He’d look around half-blinded, before being stricken with fear once more, freaking out to only be sedated again. Only now the panic didn’t return, although he was still very confused. He had been dreaming of the dark haired man again. John, was that really his name, was he real or a just a drug induced hallucination? Had the man really been there in his room or was it only an illusion?

A nurse came into his room, moments after Harold woke up. They were obviously monitoring him from somewhere outside. He could read that her name was Heather from the ID badge she wore after she walked closer to the bed, “How are you feeling today, _Mr. Bunting_?” Heather was watching him closely to see if he was calm now.

Harold watched at her through his one good eye. It was strange, the way he saw things looked so different now, but he could see. 

Harold didn’t know how to answer her question, fine he was far from, better than when, he couldn’t remember, better than, ‘Was it yesterday?’ maybe, he had no answer so he kept silent.

Heather checked his vitals, removed a drip line from the IV in his right arm, entered something in a laptop on a stand near the head of his bed, told Harold she would call his attending physician and let the doctor know that he was awake.

Harold was left alone then. He looked around the room and then out the open blinds on a window to his right. It was strange to have to turn his head as best he could to the left to view things on his left, but the right was easier.Things were blurry farther away, but he could observe things to his right without moving his head as much.

Around twenty minutes later a man came into Harold’s room. He was dark haired with brown eyes. Not deep blue. Harold didn’t understand the stab of disappointment he felt.

“Hello Harold. I’m Dr. Pradipta. I’m a surgeon and now I am your attending physician. I didn’t do the initial surgeries but am responsible for your post-surgical care. It is highly unusual I know; there are reasons I can assure you. I know you are very confused right now and that you have many questions, ones I can’t answer unfortunately. There is someone who can and soon. Just try to be patient and when we think you are ready, _he_ will be allowed to see you.” The doctor informed Harold.

“Now, let me take a look at you.” Dr. Pradipta began to remove the bandages.

Harold tried his best to remain calm. What he was going through now was still was upsetting but Harold was now accepting that what had happened had happened, nothing would ever change that. He didn’t even remember his name, but he sensed somehow that he wasn’t a quitter; he had dealt with crippling injuries before bravely and he would do so again.

When the bandages were removed, Dr. Pradipta checked Harold’s left eye socket for signs of infection. The surgeon also examined the suture sites on Harold’s forehead, the ones above his left ear, and those on the right side of his face.

“Your eye is doing as well as can be expected, I see no infection. We can cover it with gauze and tape for now, if you want,” Dr. Pradipta told Harold, expecting his patient might want to keep his disfigurement hidden. “The sutures are ready to come out. The bruising is fading, the swelling is gone.”

“As for the amnesia, it could be temporary. It could be permanent,” Dr. Pradipta told Harold before he could even ask. “Your memories could all come flooding back in a matter of days or weeks; they could stay locked in your mind forever.”

“When do you think I will be ready? When can _he_ come back again? I really need to find out…anything. Please?’ Harold had to ask. The not knowing was worse than the physical results of his injuries.

“I think you are ready. You asked when _he_ can come back again. Why?” the doctor asked.

“I dreamt of someone named John, or so I thought. Was he here? Was it just a dream? I need to know.” Harold was almost pleading.

“Yes he was. His name is _John Richards_. He was injured in the same accident as you. He was released two days ago, but has returned every day since hoping to see you again. _Mr. Richards_ will tell you everything he knows about you. Only he can, I’m afraid. You rest tonight. I will allow him to see you tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry. I almost forgot _. Mr. Richards_ brought you these.” Dr. Pradipta then reached into his pocket, and handed Harold a pair of glasses. “It’s okay for you to wear them for the time being. You’ll need new ones of course, but you should know I would recommend laser surgery to correct the vision in your right.”

Harold tried to rest during the night, but sleep evaded him to the point he asked for something to help him. The anxiousness of seeing John again was making him restless and the minutes seem to drag on.

It was only a few hours after Harold had finally fallen asleep before he was roused by the lab tech wanting to draw more blood while an aide waited for the tech to finish to take Harold to have the laser surgery he had opted for. Harold was back in his room by nine. Nurses came and went, helping Harold to the restroom. Then physical therapists would come just to get him up and walking around. It wasn't easy, his body was used to walking with its damaged hip but not with the lack of depth perception in his sight. A male therapist held on to him by a safety belt and kept Harold from falling after his numerous missteps. By the third time the PT had come in that morning Harold made it down the hospital hallway and back to his room without any assistance except the therapist's hand holding on to his elbow.  

Even with everything going on, time still seemed to crawl along, and whenever the door opened Harold expected to see John. By lunchtime he was exhausted and dozed off, his meal left untouched.

It was mid afternoon when Harold opened his eyes again. Someone was standing by his bedside, looking down at him. A man with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes; _he is real._

“Hello Harold," he said. “I’m John.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next John visits The Library one last time, goes to visit Grace


	11. John's Last Look, Telling Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reese knocked on the door of the apartment across from Washington Square Park; the one John had discovered Grace Hendricks lived in. Harold’s former fiance, the woman Harold had left behind three years ago, the woman Finch still loved and protected though she thought him dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John says a last goodbye to the Library. Then begins to initiate his plan, reuniting Harold with Grace
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/15014.html)

John had been released from the hospital two days ago. He had gone to the loft, called everyone in on his plan and as soon as he could went to the Library. Reese felt as though he was walking into the abandoned building the Library appeared to be from the outside.

Physically nothing was changed. Everything was as they had left it two weeks ago. Two things were missing of course: the things that made the Library alive. One was Harold.

The other thing missing was Bear. John would do something to reward Leon for taking care of Bear these past few weeks. Thankfully, the dog had been with the accountant that night.

Leon had been an annoying repeat number for them. As weird as it was now, John trusted the man with his and Harold’s dog. Now more importantly he trusted Leon’s computer skills enough for him to take Harold’s place helping other numbers.

Only Reese would not trust Finch’s computers with the man, they were almost sacred now. John had found another vacant building—a new lair so to speak—to continue his and Harold’s mission. Leon had seen Finch’s system and worked with it. The former account had amazed John with how quickly he set up his own network after Reese had told Tau what needed to be done. It wasn’t Harold’s but it would have to do.

After resting like Reese had been told—well for a few days anyways—he was back in the Library. John covered Finch’s monitors with plastic covers, reverently running his hands over each one as he did. Next were the numerous towers, keyboards, and mice. All were under their own covers. Lastly, John covered the whole workstation with a gray tarp.

When that was done Reese crated up most of Harold’s most precious and rare editions. He had paid some movers handsomely, no questions asked, to move the crates to a climate controlled storage facility. Reese found a place where Finch’s books would be safe for years.

While the movers loaded up the many crates of books into their truck, John packed up their personal belongings. Finch's earthenware pot for heating water; Harold's favorite mug—why Finch loved that cracked cup he’d never found out; a razor, shaving cream, and cologne he found in the restroom; Finch’s overcoat Harold had left hanging on the coat rack—it was too warm to wear it that last night they left the Library together. 

Reese lifted it to his nose, the coat smelled so much like Harold. When one of the movers came back up the steps, John hastily folded the coat and put it in a box.

When John had everything he couldn’t bear to leave behind packed up, the last of his and Harold’s personal effects in his car, the movers gone, and Bear’s toys, bed and food in the trunk, John locked the gate.  He knew it would be the last time. John felt like nothing more could be ripped from his soul, now he felt like his soul itself was torn from him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Reese knocked on the door of the apartment across from Washington Square Park; the one John had discovered Grace Hendricks lived in. She was Harold’s former fiance, the woman Harold had left behind three years ago, the woman Finch still loved and protected though she thought him dead.

Reese didn’t want to do this, a part of him wanted to selfishly keep Finch to himself. To never tell Harold about Grace and never inform Grace Harold was alive and needed her. But Reese had to do his, he had to make sure Harold had something to hold on to while he healed. Harold needed Grace not him.

When the door opened, the beautiful redheaded woman asked, “May I help you?” John could see recognition dawn on her face, “Detective Stills, right?”

There was no turning back now. “No, my name is John Reese. May I come in, please?  I need to break some news to you. It’s about Harold.”

The color drained from her face as she opened the door to let him in. “Yes, of course.”

John walked into the room; it was much the same as when he was there a year ago. “Maybe you should sit down. What I have to tell you will be upsetting, for that I am sorry.”

Grace looked very confused but still took a seat on her sofa. She looked up at John, “What about Harold?”

It was now or never. “Harold is alive,” John calmly told her.

He watched her turn deathly white, the news shocking her. Disbelief marred her features. “How?” she finally managed to ask.

John let out a breath and began to tell her the story he had had made up. John told the white lies while Grace listened; hopefully she believed them..

“Again, my name is John Reese. I was a U.S. marshal; I was assigned to protect Harold. I used to work for the Justice Department.”

“Harold worked for the crime boss Carl Elias. Mr. Fischer, yes Harold’s real name, came to us eight years ago. Harold didn’t know he would be working for Elias when he accepted the job, it was only later that he found out.”

“Harold is an honest and good man who offered his help to do what was right, to get a criminal behind bars. In exchange for his help gathering enough evidence to convict Elias, we offered him a new name and a new life.”

“For five years Fischer continued working for Elias, helping the Justice Department gather evidence. But Elias always seemed to be one step ahead of us. Even with Harold’s help, we could never get solid evidence, enough to convict him.”

“In those five years Fischer and I became very good friends. I think I was his only friend; I know he was mine. In my job you learn not to form attachments, but still Harold became the closest thing to family I had in twenty years.”

“Harold told me about how he met you, how much he loved you, and that he wanted to marry you. I need to tell you this so that you know Harold loved you, no, he still loves you very much. He wanted you to be under our protection when the time came.”

“But that time never came. Fischer was hurt, not killed, in that ferry explosion three years ago. He was afraid Elias had ordered a hit on him and didn’t care if the blast killed dozens of people in the process.”

“I found Fischer in an abandoned building, hurt badly, and scared out of his mind. He was so afraid if they found out he had survived they would try again. Harold couldn’t risk your life, what they might do to you to get to him.”

“I got Harold to a hospital, his injuries were bad. Getting up and walking out of the triage that had been set up, compounded those injuries. He had to have spinal fusion surgery.”

“It took him months to learn how to walk again. Harold needed you. I begged him to let me bring you to him. It was no use. He had to protect you by being dead to you.”

“During those months, the Justice Department rescinded their offer, as Fischer could and would no longer work for Elias. I made a choice to quit the U.S. Marshall’s service. Harold was my family now. I had to protect him.”

“That is what I have been doing for the past three years, protecting him. With help from people in the Justice Department who believed like I did, that a promise is a promise, we assumed new identities.”

“Our aliases, John Richards and Harold Bunting, own and run a small security company together here in New York. Harold wouldn’t leave the city—he had to watch over you. I watched over you both.”

“I eventually found out Elias was arrested and convicted of manslaughter. He escaped from prison a few months ago and is in the wind. Harold is also no longer in danger as he had nothing to do with Elias’ conviction. Elias will never see the light of day again if he is ever caught; Harold’s death will not stop that.”

“We only discovered later Elias was not responsible for the explosion at the ferry. Fischer was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“With his life and your safety no longer at risk, I talked Harold into letting you know he was alive. I don’t think anything has changed in the past three years, you still do love him?”

“Am I right?”

Grace just sat there in stunned silence. She looked up at John and realized he was holding something back, waiting for her answer. “Of course I still love him. What aren’t you telling me? Why isn’t he here himself?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Reese arrived at the hospital as soon as they would allow him in Finch’s room. John believed that what he had planned was the right thing to do and if he had to spend the rest of his life just being Harold’s friend then he could do it.

John’s logic told him the best thing that he could do for himself would be to just cut all ties, yet his heart couldn’t let go completely. He could not just leave Harold. His heart was not logical. As painful as this situation was going to be, the alternative was worse. John had been killing himself slowly after losing Jess, until Finch saved him. If he completely lost Harold, though the man that had saved John no longer existed, Reese would have nothing to live for; with nothing left to hold on to he’d take the fast way out this time.

Everyone knew their roles. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, John went into Harold’s room.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming....Harold meets the man in his dream


	12. Harold Meets the Man in His Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold could not believe the man of his literal dreams was really there. He did not understand it; he couldn’t even remember the handsome stranger now standing beside the bed. Without his memory, Harold’s initial reaction was as if he were meeting John for the very first time. Yet, there was an overwhelming sense that he had known the dark haired man forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold finally meets the man in his dream, but how could he have gotten it all wrong?
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/15313.html)

Harold could not believe the man of his literal dreams was really there. He did not understand it; he couldn’t even remember the handsome stranger now standing beside the bed. Without his memory, Harold’s initial reaction was as if he were meeting John for the very first time. Yet, there was an overwhelming sense that he had known the dark haired man forever.

Also for the first time since Harold regained consciousness days ago, hurting and confused, Harold felt safe and protected. John was standing there in the flesh and it soothed him somehow. He couldn’t understand why but the other man’s mere presence made Harold even more confident that he could deal with everything he was now going through.

Maybe it was the way John was watching him now. It was like Harold mattered, like those penetrating eyes saw the man in the bed not the injuries. It was not like how the medical staff observed him, seeing a hurt, disfigured body. They tried to hide it, the pity and the split second of revulsion, behind their mask of professionalism. But not this man, John studied him now unflinching, caring and concern the only things Harold could see written on his face.

“Hello, John. It is nice to meet you, although I have been told you already know me, and I you.” Harold reached out to take John’s hand.

John shook the hand held out to him briefly before abruptly letting go. Harold had felt it, that spark of… something; the other man had felt it too. John dropped his hand next to his side like it was nothing, but Harold still noticed his reaction. Also for the briefest moment pain filled those blue eyes before John turned his head away momentarily. Was John hurting because he also had injuries from the car crash? Or was there something between them that caused his anguish? 

“Well. They tell me that you can help me out. I seem to have forgotten a few years of my life. Like all of them,” Harold laughed weakly.

John used all of his CIA training to begin telling Finch of the false life they had together and not trip up in the details. Harold’s memory might be gone, but John was sure Finch’s mind was still like a steel trap.

“Mind if I take a seat? This may take a while.” John then pulled a chair next to Harold’s bed.

“We met eight years ago. I was working for the Justice Department. I was the U.S. marshal assigned to protect you. You came to us offering your help in assisting the department to gather evidence against a notorious crime lord named Carl Elias. In return, the department offered you witness protection if we gathered enough evidence to get a conviction.”

“For five years we worked together, but Elias was always one step ahead of us. As soon as we thought we had something solid on him, things and people disappeared or evidence was tampered with making it inadmissible.”’

“Then three years ago we thought Elias targeted you as the mole and put a hit out on you. There was an explosion at the ferry. You were hurt and almost died.”

Harold interrupted, “Wait, three years ago? Is that when I had to have the fusion surgery?”

John nodded affirmatively. “Unfortunately you were no longer able to work in Elias’ organization. Since you were no longer any help, the department rescinded their offer. No new name, no new life, no protection.”

“I thought they were wrong to do that, so I resigned. Not only because it was wrong, but in the five years we worked together, we became friends, more than friends; you were like family to me. I had to protect you, to protect my family.”

“So we assumed new identities, burned our old ones, and spent the last three years building a small but successful security and investigations company.”

“I also kept in contact with some people at the Justice Department. Elias wasn’t responsible for the explosion at the ferry. Some of Elias’ other men turned on him; Elias was convicted from their testimonies. After questioning of one of these men, one of his lieutenants, my contact found out Elias never suspected you. Elias escaped and is in hiding somewhere. He has no reason to have you killed, that would not keep him out of prison for the rest of his life if he is ever captured again. ”

Harold listened as the other man told him about the last eight years of their life. Harold was positive now he and John were involved somehow. He had felt something for the John in his dreams even before the flesh and bone man came into the room, shook his hand, and sat down next to him.

Harold was expecting John to tell him they were more than business partners and friends. John had said Harold was his family, maybe they were married even, and it was legal in New York, he knew that. To say he was confused and shocked at John’s next words was an understatement.

“You see for three years you not only lived under an assumed name, you let your fiance believe you were dead to protect her. When I found out you were safe from Elias and that you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, I convinced you to go to her. We were on the way there when our _Towncar_ was struck from behind by another car driven by a drunk driver.”

“When I was released, I went to her and explained everything. She was shocked and upset to know you were still alive. She is still hurt and confused, but understands why you did what you did. She wants to help you.”

“Her name is Grace and she’s waiting outside to see you. You need her Harold and she needs you. I’ll get her now, if that’s okay.”

Harold didn’t know what to say. John somehow mistook his shocked silence for a yes and left the room.

Although Harold was still adjusting to seeing through one eye, he knew he had not mistaken more pain flickering across John’s face, especially when he told Harold he needed this Grace.

Could he have been so wrong about them, about himself? Harold didn’t think so. But trusting John felt so right and if John told him that he loved this woman…

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next...Harold meets Grace


	13. Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a tentative knock at the door, a beautiful red-haired woman entered the room. Harold expected some kind of reaction when he first saw her, as he had waking up to John standing over him, but no, there was nothing. She was a perfect stranger to him. He felt nothing towards her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold _meets_ Grace
> 
> I had it the back of my mind John secretly hoped that Harold spending time with Grace would bring back all the memories
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/15573.html)

After a tentative knock at the door, a beautiful red-haired woman entered the room. Harold expected some kind of reaction when he first saw her, as he had waking up to John standing over him, but no, there was nothing. She was a perfect stranger to him. He felt nothing towards her.

Harold just didn’t know what to do. How do you react when you have no idea who someone is, feel absolutely nothing when first meeting them and that person is obviously very emotional being with you? She was his fiance and… a complete and absolute stranger.

Tears began running down the woman’s face, the moment she saw him. “Harold?” Her voice trembled, “It really is you?”

Grace slowly walked over to the bed and was reaching out to touch him when she quickly pulled her arm back. Maybe it was because Harold involuntarily flinched at the unexpected attempt from her to touch him. Or was it an involuntary action on her part when she saw close up the damage to his face from the accident?

“I’m sorry,” Grace apologized.

Harold didn’t know if she was apologizing for trying to touch him or for her reaction at seeing him up close.

“No need to be. It’s all right.” It really wasn’t, but how can he expect her not to blanch at the sight of him when trained professionals did.

Grace took a seat in the chair John had vacated, all the while trying to get her emotions in check.

“I don’t know where to start or what to say to you. I still can’t believe it’s you. _What do you say_ to someone you thought was dead, who you never stopped loving and has absolutely no idea who you are?”

Grace went on, staring at the monitors above his head, avoiding looking at him, “I was angry and hurt at first when John told me you were alive, but now I just want to help you if you will allow me. I know you don’t remember me or what we had, but I want to talk to you or show you everything about us.” 

“The doctors say anything could trigger your memory. I want to help you Harold, please? I do love you. I know it’s going to be hard, but if you’ll just let me try.” Grace finished with eyes still brimming with tears, as she finally looked at his face, at him.

Harold wasn’t sure what to do. He believed what the woman was telling him. But how do you tell that person that you are so very mixed up right now and the only one you want help from is not her? The only reason you weren’t freaking out at her even being in the room was because John had sent her in.

Harold didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t help how he felt right now. That she could leave and never come back and he would be fine. As long as he had John he could cope. 

So trying to spare her any pain he replied best he could.. _._

“I’m sorry. Miss Hendricks, is it? I don’t remember any of what John has already told me about you and I. But I must have hurt you terribly and for that I do apologize. And I am sorry that I do not remember us or anything about us. I am very confused right now about, well, everything. I don’t know if you can help me, but I am willing for you to try.”

“Thank you Harold. I can see I’m upsetting you by being here so I’ll leave now. I’ll be back tomorrow if you are still here. I overheard John and your nurse talking earlier; I think they will be releasing you soon.” She was looking away again.

When Grace got up to leave she touched his hand. When he didn’t pull away this time, she bent over him, closed her eyes, and kissed him lightly on his forehead.

She then walked towards the door, and as she opened it to leave. She turned her head and told Harold, “Goodbye, I do love you.”

She stiffened a bit when Harold’s only response was to ask her, “Is John still here?”

“Yes of course, I’ll send him back in. Goodbye Harold.” And with that went out the door.

Harold had to admit to himself he had handled that badly. Grace was his fiance after all. He did love her, right? He should have felt something besides unease with her even being in the room. And Harold did notice that this had hurt her. He could have been more welcoming.

But at least Harold thought he had been truthful. He would accept Grace’s help. He was confused and if Grace helping him to relive their past would make things clearer, then he would spend some time with her.

Besides, it seemed to be what John wanted.

Harold had to laugh at himself inwardly. Confusion was an understatement.

John was also a complete stranger to him, but from the moment Harold first looked up at the visitor in this frightening new world of his, he trusted the man and needed him somehow. Yet Grace was his fiance, the one Harold should recognize instinctively to trust, to need; Harold had had to force himself to even allow her to be in his room.

Well confusion then jumped to a whole new level when John came back into his room. Harold’s breath caught, he could have sworn his heart rate sped up.  Harold couldn’t deny it; he was attracted to John, very much.

The amnesia—Harold couldn’t remember his life before, people in it, or even his own name because of it. But could he really forget what kind of person he was? A man with a fiance shouldn’t be feeling what Harold was feeling now, yet he was.

Harold would spend time with Grace; let her remind him of the way things were between them. If somehow he regained his memories and loved her again, then so be it.

Yet looking at John now, Harold wasn’t thinking about a ‘what if?’ with Grace. Harold was thinking about a ‘what now?’ Now he wanted to be with John, was attracted to his strength and gentleness, felt something for man with the piercing blue eyes and his ruggedly handsome face.

Yes Harold would do what John asked of him; he would allow Grace to help. It seemed to be what John wanted him to do, what he wanted for Harold. Maybe it was right for the ‘Harold’ he had been. But what about the man he was now?

The ‘Harold’ that he was now did not want Grace, had no interest in the woman at all. Harold wanted John.  He couldn’t deny that, he wouldn’t even try.

But what could he do? Harold didn’t want to hurt this wonderful woman who obviously cared for him, but he couldn’t deny how he felt either. He wanted and needed John…

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold gets to leave the hospital and with whom?


	14. Plans Made for Harold's Hospital Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John hadn’t planned on where Finch would go to after leaving the hospital and maybe it wasn’t a wise decision to do it, but the offer jumped out without a moment of hesitation, “Of course I’ll stay with him Dr. and we’ll stay at Harold’s apartment. Just give me a few hours to get things ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold kind of senses John's need to help and at times his tendency to act before thinking things through.  
> Of course John does.
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/15763.html)

* * *

###  [Plans Made for Harold's Hospital Release](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1765870/chapters/3816292)

* * *

 

Well!” John frowned at him. “How did things go? I’m guessing not so well. Grace seemed to be in a hurry. She just told me you wanted to see me and left without so much as a backward glance.”

Harold snapped, “No. I don’t think things went very well at all John. I tried to not let it show how uncomfortable I was. But I think she still picked up on how tense I was with her even being in the room.”

Harold took a deep breath, held it in a second, let it out slowly and then said more calmly, "I’m sorry John, I know you are trying to help, that you think reuniting Grace and me would make things easier somehow. It just didn’t happen. I hope I don’t sound like a heartless bastard right now, but the truth is I think I would be just fine if I never saw Miss Hendricks again.”

John frowned even more then. “You really need to give her a chance Harold.”

John walked over to the window and stared out. With his back turned to Harold he told him, “I wouldn’t have interfered. We were heading there before… Well you love her, believe me. It might be awkward between you two now, but please, just let her help.”

Harold frustration tinged his response, “I promised her I would at least try. I just don’t know how to make you understand John. I just couldn’t connect with her is the only way I know how describe it. And I really can’t say it bothered me that we didn’t.”

There it was, that brief moment of pain in John’s eyes when he turned to speak, and then it was gone. John urged, “Give it time Harold. It’s strained because she just found out you’re alive and you don’t remember her at all. Not exactly an ideal reunion. Just trust me, you need her.”

Harold gestured with his hands in John’s direction, “Yes! That’s just it; I do trust you. I don’t remember you either, yet…I have you, don’t I?  I feel connected to you somehow. I can’t explain it; I don’t even know how to.” Shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head with resentment, Harold lashed out, “I am only accepting Miss Hendricks’, Grace’s, help because of you. I just don’t understand why you are pushing me towards her.”

John sighed, “Harold it’s what you want—”

Harold cut him off abruptly. “Damn it John, I’m not totally blind. You try to hide it but you can’t. It’s not what you want, not really. Talk to me!—Please?—What do **you** really want?—What do **you** need?” Harold pleaded loudly, then lowered his voice to almost a whisper, “I know what I want, what I need…you.”

John pleaded softly, “Please, Harold, don’t do this...” 

Dr. Pradipta walked into the room just then. “Excuse me. I hope I’m not interrupting something. I have some good news for you _Mr. Bunting._ We are going to release you today, on one condition. You need someone to stay with you for a few weeks.”

The doctor looked at the chart in his hands. “I don’t see any more complications from your head trauma. The cuts and bruising are healing well. There is the scarring that will require cosmetic surgery at a later date if you so choose.”

Dr. Pradipta walked over and raised the front of the bed even more to check his patients face closely, while speaking at the same time, “I just want someone to be there with you the first few weeks. The nurses tell me you have been doing good getting around here in your room since the Lasik was performed on your right eye early this morning. It will be difficult at first and eventually you will be able to do most of the things you did before losing the sight in your left eye. But it will take time and I don’t want you to be alone, at least for a week or two.”

Harold was elated for a moment until it dawned on him, “I am anxious to get out of here, but I don’t even know where I will be going, let alone who can stay with me. John?”

John hadn’t planned on where Finch would go to after leaving the hospital and maybe it wasn’t a wise decision to do it, but the offer jumped out without a moment of hesitation, “Of course I’ll stay with him Doctor and we’ll stay at Harold’s apartment. Just give me a few hours to get things ready.”

Dr. Pradipta nodded his approval, “That’s excellent. It’ll take an hour or so to prepare the release papers and write out the prescriptions for the medications _Mr. Bunting_ will need to take and the post-discharge instructions.”

The surgeon shook both men’s hands then. “I’ll get things started then. I wish you both the best. Take care of yourselves ... Harold, John.”

When the doctor left, John smiled down at Harold, “We’ll I guess I better go too. I’ll be back in two hours, tops.”

Harold cleared his throat, asking bashfully, “John, umm, can you bring me some clothes? Then more sternly he added, “And we’re not done talking.”

John smiled, nodded, and said, “Of course, I’ll bring back something for you to wear. And I know. You never give up Harold. We’ll talk, but first let’s get you out of here!”

~~~~~~~~~~

John drove to the safe-house, he had taken Monica too. One that Harold spent a lot time at, although it was not Finch’s real home, it was as close to one as could be. It looked lived in; yet nothing in the place gave away anything about Harold Wren -Finch -Traxler. It was perfect for _Harold Bunting_.

John went back to the Finch’s real home, the lovely blue two story house. The flowers were blooming profusely. Oh how Harold must have loved the yard’s beauty John thought. The grass was mowed, the flower beds weeded and the plants trimmed neatly. I’ll have to make sure the yard stays tended, hire a caretaker for both the house and its grounds. Reese would see to the care of Harold’s home.

Using the keys Reese had ‘retrieved’ from Harold’s belongings in the hospital safe, John went into the house. Reese took in the rooms once more, walls adorned with photos of Wren and both the Ingrams, father and son. Various plaques for both IFT and Universal Heritage hung on the wall as well as awards and trophies on the shelves of the recessed bookcases, all waiting for their owner’s return.

This was Harold Wren’s home, or most of the house was, until John had found what was hidden in a secret room. While gathering up some of Harold’s clothing, John found the small nook barely large enough to fit the bureau and double bed in it, the only entrance a concealed door in the master bedroom’s closet. Now this was Harold Finch, a hidden room secreted away like the man who had tried to keep his affections for John concealed for so long.

There John found a single picture of Grace, like a reminder, tucked away on one corner of Harold’s bureau. What clenched at Reese’s heart were the pictures of him, many had to have come from surveillance footage, John in various personas working their cases, framed and hanging on the walls. On the bureau in front of Grace’s picture were more framed photos, one of him walking in the park with Bear, one of John alone in the library sitting in Finch’s office chair feet up next to the keyboards on Harold’s table and even one of a youthful, innocent John in uniform.

Harold had loved John; there was no doubt about that. Harold had kept silent; secretly loving John, with these pictures his only companionship at night. John wavered in his decision to go through with his plan to be _John Richards_ , _Harold Bunting’s_ best friend and business partner.

_Should I just give up on Harold?_

_But I have to, don’t I?_

Hurting, confused, and sedated Harold had called out for Grace, not him. John had to do this, for Finch. John found a suitcase and an overnight bag in the closet. The suitcase he filled with some of Harold’s clothes. The picture of Grace along with some of Finch’s personal effects Reese placed in the overnight. Door clicking and locking behind him, John walked down the three steps with a case in each hand. Once the baggage was in the trunk of the rental car, John looked back at the house bidding it a silent goodbye from both Harold and himself.

John returned to the safe-house, now _Harold Bunting’s_ home and unpacked the cases, keeping out the set of clothes he had promised to bring back to the hospital. Before heading there to pick up Finch, Reese made sure everything he brought from the two-story was in place for the ruse.

Only what do I do about Harold he thought. Finch suspects we are more than friends; I tried to hide my feelings, but not enough. Harold thinks he needs me, not Grace. But it was her name Finch called out when he was scared and hurting.

_How do I pretend to just be Bunting’s friend for the next two weeks? How can I go on trying to convince Harold that it’s Grace that he needs when all I want is to be the one to love and care for him?_

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold has two weeks alone with John and how does he plan to use those two weeks


	15. A Look in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold limped into the bathroom not bothering to call his nurse. Looking into the mirror, he pulled off the gauze taped over his left eye. His stomach lurched at the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold looks at himself in the mirror.  
> There is a very brief and maybe somewhat graphic description of his left eye.  
> Be warned if this may squick you out.
> 
>  
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/16079.html)

_Two weeks John’s going to stay with me. I’ve got two week to convince him he’s the one I want._

Dr. Pradipta had left, with John following right after, leaving Harold alone to think, but not for long. Ten minutes later one of his nurses brought in some printed out instructions outlining continued care for the enucleation of his left eye. Harold barely listened to what she was saying his thought plagued by the situation with John.

 _I’ve got to find out why he wants me to take up with this Hendricks woman, why he is pushing me towards her and away from him. I can see how it hurts him to do this_.

The sound of the door clicking shut snapped him from his preoccupation over his dilemma. Harold was alone once more holding a folder with the hospital's logo on the front in his hand. It contained more than the set of aftercare instructions, but his one good eye still wasn’t up to reading on its own. Harold gave up tossing the folder onto the rolling table next to his bed. John can read them for me…

 _What happened between us? Maybe the ‘Harold’ before loved this Grace and was oblivious or ignored how John felt about him. Only I’m not that man anymore. I know what I feel now. When I looked up at him that first time, I didn’t know who John Richards was, but my heart remembered. Yes I love John and it seems so right_.

A knock at his door and a woman asking to come in broke into his musings this time. “I’m Cassandra Mitchell; I work in the hospital’s prosthetic department. Mind if I speak with you?” She was actually in charge and was going through all his options about having a prosthetic eye made when the eye socket had healed enough from the enucleation. The photos in the brochure she handed him shocked him.

“Oh dear God … is  ... is that how I look? Harold shoved the photos away from him and turning his head away… “Please I can’t talk about this right now.”

Ms. Mitchell patted his arm apologetically, “I’m sorry. I’ll speak with you again when you are more ready. Let me leave this with you.” She placed a box on the stand next to him and quietly left the room.

Harold limped into the bathroom not bothering to call his nurse. Looking into the mirror, he pulled off the gauze taped over his left eye. His stomach lurched at the sight. The eye lids were drooping, still a purplish green-black color, but not enough to cover the angry red mass of tissue behind them. The rest of his face was a mass of faded bruising and suture lines.

No wonder Hendricks had flinched. But not his John, not even while he stood watching as the doctor examined the eye that last time. John didn’t turn away, only moved back towards the bed, no pity or revulsion in those blue eyes only concern for the person John loved.

Back in bed once again Harold opened the box left on his table. Inside was a black eye patch made of a soft plastic meant for wearing temporarily over a healing eye. Slipping it down over his fore head, Harold adjusted the patch, then sat back waiting on John. His distress from earlier replaced once more with anxiety on what to do.

_Two weeks, I have two weeks, to get John to admit he loves me. I know he does…._

~~~~~~~~~

For the first few days both men took it easy. John was still nursing his healing ribs and Harold would gingerly limp around for short distances getting used to his lack of depth perception now and limited mobility.

John cooked them light meals, conversed with Harold about their fake lives as investigators, coming up with more and more lies, about him, about Grace, knowing full well Harold was listening but doubting every word of them.

Reese would go the guest room at night and undress. He would then stretch out on the bed there while thinking about Harold in the next room and how much he wanted to be in there with him. Oh how John's body ached for the other man as he remembered their only time together—bodies close, their hands wrapped around their cocks together. John would masturbate himself, calling out for Harold at completion, and then fall into a restless sleep.

Harold ate those meals while listening to more of the charade about how much he loved Grace. He did not doubt that at one time he had, but felt it in his heart that somewhere along the way John had taken her place. The first night 'home' Harold had taken the picture of Grace from the nightstand and placed it in the drawer; it didn't seem right for the photo to be there when that night and those following he would undress, get into bed, and think of John. In the quiet of the night he often heard John call out his name.

_Oh John, why are you doing this to us?_

A week after Harold was released Grace finally stopped by to see how Harold was and maybe take him out for a few hours. Harold hadn’t missed the flash of relief on her face as she looked at his when he opened the door. Maybe Grace was relieved John wasn’t the one who had and maybe it a terrible thing to assume, but Harold believed it had more to do with how much his injuries had healed in a week.

Harold allowed her to brush past him and after she’d descended the small landing she smiled back up at him, “If you’re up to it, I was thinking we can go my house and then walk to where we first met. We can go to the little bistro we first went to for coffee and talked about Italy.”

Harold was already dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and black slacks; he didn’t like wearing the suits, of which there were many, which seemed to mystify John. It would do him good to go out and get some air even if it was with Grace.

He asked if John wanted to come along even though Harold could tell Grace wanted him alone, well as alone as they could be in public places. John declined of course with an, “I need to go check on my dog. He’s been with a friend since…since the accident.”

Harold responded with surprise, “You have a dog? Bring him here John, I am sure he misses you!” Harold added with some certainty, “I think I like dogs.”

_'What can it hurt, Bear can’t talk and I know he misses Harold’_

John agreed, “I think he misses you too Harold; I’ll bring him here if you are sure.”

The three parted company in front of the complex; Harold and Grace rode away in the waiting cab as John watched them go. It was hard for Reese to see the two leave together. Strolling down memory lane with Grace probably wouldn’t cause Harold’s memories to come flooding back, but what if by spending time with the lovely woman Harold found he wanted to be with her instead? That’s what Harold needs, right? But what about you? Harold needs you too, he told you so. All these thoughts warred in Reese’s head.

John drove off in the rental car headed for Leon’s to get Bear. John tried to silence his hopes nothing would happen between Harold and Grace. The two of them being together was the right thing for Harold.

 _Wasn't_ _it?_

_~*~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold spends a day with Grace


	16. A Day With Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace told the cabby the address of the apartment across from Washington Park. “It’s a short walk to the bistro and the spot where we met near the river. If you don’t think you can…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grace tried but I think she wasn't really expecting the Harold she found.
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/16228.html)

Grace told the cabby the address of the apartment across from Washington Park. “It’s a short walk to the bistro and the spot where we met near the river. If you don’t think you can…”

“I can walk a few blocks Miss Hendricks…Grace. I’ll be fine, don’t coddle me please?” Harold didn’t mean to snap at the woman, she was just being considerate. Getting out and getting some fresh air was still what he wanted, just not with her. John, him, and the dog in a park together was where he wanted to be. Was that a memory, it so felt familiar?

After a tense moment Harold got out of the cab, and limped up to the steps while pointedly ignoring her proffered help. He carefully ascended the few steps. Harold misjudged the height of one step and caught his foot on it, thankfully his good leg was already higher up on the next level and he only had to grab the banister to steady himself.

Harold turned to see a panicked Grace at the base of the stairs. “I’m fine. Can we just go in now please? I am a bit winded and would appreciate it if I could go in and sit a bit.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

Once inside she showed him into a living area with a floral patterned couch on which Grace asked him to sit. She offered him something to drink, and went off to get him the, “Anything is fine, thank you.”

While she was in another room Harold looked around. He saw himself in a picture with Grace.

_We do look happy in it; I just don’t remember anything of this house, although I was supposed to have lived here for months after I proposed._

Harold tried, really tried. He couldn’t remember anything about the house or Grace. Trying to remember anything was like looking at a blank wall. He kept forcing his brain to remember something, anything about his former fiancé. Despite how hard he tried that blank wall always filled with images like a blurry out of focus video of John and him together somewhere.

Grace brought a tray with two tumblers of iced tea, a sugar bowl, two teaspoons and a saucer of lemon slices and set in on the coffee table. “I know this isn’t your tea, Sencha Green it was: hot-two sugars… I quit buying it when…” she offered sadly, her voice tapering off.

Harold took one glass and said, “It’s okay, and this is fine.” He added two spoons of sugar and squeezed a slice of lemon into it and stirred the tea, before settling back on the coach.

Grace did the same, although she sat in the couch’s matching chair and hopefully asked. “Do you remember anything?”

Her expectant smile faded as he apologized, “No, I’m sorry, Grace, there’s nothing.”

He got up, carefully limping across the room, and picked up the picture, “I see we were happy once. Again I’m sorry I hurt you by letting you believe I was gone. But I don’t think I am this man in the picture anymore. Please don’t get your hopes up; things will never be the same, they can’t be. Grace look at me, really look.”

Grace got up, came over to him, and lightly touched his arm,” I know you’ve changed, we both have, but can we keep trying just for a while. If what I show you in the next few days doesn’t trigger any memories, I won’t push anymore. Okay?”

Harold put the picture down, moved around Grace to pick up his glass once more, and finished its contents. “Okay. I’m ready. I can’t promise you anything, I’m sorry.”

In the next few hours they walked at Harold’s pace to the riverside park where Grace showed him the place she had set up her easel the first day they met. Later they sat down at a table in the quaint little bistro Grace mentioned earlier.

As they sat at a table outside Grace told Harold about much they both loved Italy, had planned to go there together one day, and how much he had loved her paintings. Grace told him about her life before she met him and when she had decided to become an artist. Listening to Grace, Harold wished he could remember something of her. She was a lovely person, and he understood why he had loved her once, but not anymore. Harold didn’t want to hurt her; he liked her well enough but just didn’t feel anything stronger.

Harold looked at his watch, saw the time, and held up his hand to quiet Grace. Abruptly he asked, “Can we leave now? He realized how rude he sounded and politely added, “I am getting a bit tired and I am worried about John. I know he is supposed to be watching out for me until I am better, but I think it should be both ways. John was hurt too and I am afraid he’ll overdo it.”

Grace looked as if she had been relieved of some sense of duty before she covered it up with a defeated slump of her shoulders and a resigned, “I’ll call the cab,” and pulled out her cell phone.

It was a quiet ride back to his condominium. When it pulled up to the curb, Harold apologized again to his onetime fiancé. Grace made a half-hearted promise to call him the next day about going to other places where he might remember something. Harold got out and watched the cab drive away. When he turned to walk up to the door he saw John watching him from a window before the curtain quickly closed.

John met him at the door and they both went inside together. John closed the door behind them watching Harold manage the stairs before asking, “How did it go?” Harold turned, looking up at John waiting for the other man to follow him down the short flight of steps before he answered.

“It was a pleasant outing. Grace is a lovely person; I actually like her, but nothing she told me or the places she showed me made me remember a time I felt anything more.”

John knew Harold had to have seen the relief he felt and it had to have shown on his face before he'd tried to hide it. Harold never missed a thing. Yet still Reese persisted.

John turned to walk away so Harold couldn’t tell how much he was forcing himself to say it, “You’re still going to spend more time with Grace? You only gave it a few hours. Maybe someplace else will…”

“John! Wait!” Harold grabbed at the other man’s arm to spin him around.

“Please stop pushing, John! Just stop! I don’t want her; I want you. You and I were…are more than friends; you’ll never convince me otherwise.  You try to hide it, but I can tell how much it hurts you when you are trying to convince me I need to be with Grace. You think I can’t see the pain in your eyes? I told you before, I’m not completely blind. You think I didn’t notice the relief on your face just now when I told you nothing happened? Why do you keep pushing me away? Tell me!”

John faltered, “Harold, I just…”

Before John could finish they were interrupted by 70 pounds of Belgian Malinois.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold forces John to come clean


	17. Harold's Desperate Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reese tried to help Harold sit down on the settee near the door, planning to pull the man's shoes and socks off at least, when the not so sleep groggy man turned, put his other arm around John and pulled him tight up against his body. Before he could resist Harold raised his lips up to John’s and kissed him hard on the mouth, Harold’s tongue pressing against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold's had enough.
> 
> This chapter is kind of long but smex ensues.
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/16471.html)

Bear practically ran up to the two men, training nearly forgotten as he seemed to get ready to jump up on Harold to greet him. Instead the dog snapped to a sitting position in front of the man, whining softly.

Harold bent down to stroke the dog’s head, “It’s okay…?”

“Bear,” John prompted.

“…Bear, I’m fine.” Bear started licking at Harold’s face and whined more, the dog’s way of trying to take away the hurt on his face.

“Bear, _Foi, AF liggen,_ ” John commanded. Bear stopped his ministrations and trotted off to lie on the bed John had brought from Leon’s.

Harold glanced up at John, his face questioning as he tried to straighten back up.

“I told him to stop and go lay down.” John answered while unconsciously taking hold of Harold's arm and pulling him up.

John started rubbing circles on Harold's back and asked, “Why don’t you go sit and rest awhile?” Realizing what he was doing John quickly dropped his hand before saying, “I’m just going to warm up the take-out I picked up. I’m not back up to speed yet. Checking up on the business for those few hours and then going to pick up Bear wore me out.” John walked over to the kitchen doorway as Harold went to sit in a winged-back chair.

“Okay John, but our discussion earlier is not finished. I am not going to let it drop this time. There’s something going on here…I’m not giving up.” Harold hadn’t put much force into the words. John saw that Harold was worn out, but the stubborn man would never admit it.

“Fine, let’s just eat first. We need to eat.” John conceded as he stopped in the doorway and looked back.

While he put the foil wrapped food into a pan to warm in the oven and mixed up a salad to go with, John thought back to his visit earlier in the day to the new operations base.

Shaw sneeringly had told him her buddy Hersh and his cronies weren’t concerned with Harold Wren any more, they were after their machine. The one that was built already and still sending them relevant numbers. The agency didn't want The Machine's creator to build another, they just wanted the functioning one back under their control. They had already figured out Wren was of no use to them  locating their missing system.

The irrelevant numbers were coming to the newly formed team, though not through payphones and secret codes anymore. Leon thought whoever had sent Harold and John the numbers was contacting him now, with not only a social security number but relevant information as well that was sent through to Leon’s computers. Actually Reese suspected The Machine had altered its programming once more.

Shaw had brought on some of her former colleagues—she didn’t like them, but they could be trusted. And with them doing the leg work and Leon the Intel, along with assists from Carter and Fusco, several numbers had been helped already.

Before John could leave though, Leon called him over to a monitor. On it was displayed, **_Take care of him_**. “What is that?” Leon was looking at the screen puzzled.

”It’s just a message for me. You’re doing great Leon; we were right about you, all of you. Finch’s mission is in good hands. I thank you all.” John walked away from the new partners.

Shaw called out as John was walking away, “Take of him John. Harold is one of the good ones.”

John frowned, Shaw expected him to watch over Harold, even The Machine was trusting its father to him.

_What am I doing? It’s wrong to push Harold away. He says he wants me. Even his child wants me to take care of its father now. No, I can’t. Finch called for Grace._

The timer on the oven going off brought him from his musings. John pulled the food from the oven and went to tell Finch to wash up. When he poked his head around the corner to say something, Harold was sound asleep in the chair.

John went over to wake him, but when he was close enough to gently shake him, all he could do was lovingly stroke Harold’s face tracing along the faint suture lines with his fingers.

_I only love you more._

John lightly touched the leather eye patch Harold now wore permanently over his left eye not wanting any more surgeries, cosmetic or otherwise. The patch, the scars only made Harold look even more handsome in his eyes.

“John?” Harold mumbled sleepily.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed, you’re exhausted.” John covered as he hastily pulled his hand away. He helped Harold up, put the other man's arm around his waist, holding it there and helped Finch to his room.

Reese tried to help Harold sit down on the settee near the door, planning to pull the man's shoes and socks off at least, when the not so sleep groggy man turned, put his other arm around John and pulled him tight up against his body. Before he could resist Harold raised his lips up to John’s and kissed him hard on the mouth, Harold’s tongue pressing against his lips.

John resisted for a moment before opening his mouth to let Harold in and kissed him back just as hard. Their tongues danced together, tasting each other's mouth with fervor. Moans of want escaped their joined lips. They finally had to release the kiss to gasp for air…

“Tell…me now…you don’t…want me,” Harold panted as he rested his forehead on John’s shoulder.

“I can’t…I can’t…I want…you,” John moaned surrendering.

Harold raised his head and looked up at John, want and desire blazing in his eye, “Then have me.” He stepped back, pulled the polo shirt over his head and tossed it aside, then kicked off his shoes. Harold reached down to undo the button on his slacks, when John reached out to grab his hands.

“Let me.”

Harold dropped his hands to his sides while John undid the button and eased down the zipper, brushing his knuckles against Harold’s hardening cock, “I want this in me.” John then reached into Harold’s briefs, stroking his length.

Harold reached up, wrapped his arms around John, and then pulled him in close, trapping John’s hand between them. “Stop, this will end too soon. I want to fuck you…now…tonight…please?” Then he relaxed his arms and stepped back slightly.

Hearing that expletive coming from Harold’s mouth weirdly made his own dick twitch. John released Harold's shaft easing his hand from under the elastic band of the underwear. He brushed his fingertips up Harold's stomach and over the sparse hair with its downward v-shape surrounding his navel. John's hand continued its exploration up Harold's chest, where it joined his other hand there running through the soft chest hair covering it.

Placing his palms flat on Harold's chest, John bent his head brushing his lips quickly over Harold's before maneuvering them nearer the bed. When they could get no closer, John eased both slacks and briefs down past Harold's hips, then gently pushed him to sit on the edge and finished pulling everything off including socks before stepping back.

John throatily asked Harold to make himself comfortable, while he hastily stripped off his own clothes. Harold didn’t move, just stared at John’s body, as each part became bare.

When John was nude, Harold’s eye was filled with even more want. When he made to get onto the bed, John stopped him with a husky, “Wait!” John went to the other side, climbed on and moved to sit on his knees behind his lover. He ran his hands up and down Harold’s arms and shoulders and across his chest again. “How do you want me?” He whispered against his neck, his fingers now flicking Harold’s hardening nipples.

“On your stomach...I think.”

John moved to lie down as he watched Harold reach over and pull some things from the nightstand and place them on the headboard’s shelf. “I found these here…before,” answering John’s questioning glance.

Harold then pulled his legs up on the bed and lay on his side, facing his soon to be mate.

Harold tenderly ran has hand up and down John’s back, then lightly over his buttocks, and then parted them, fingers pressed against his opening. “John?”

“I’m ready...I want you to keep going?” He turned his head, face down into the pillow.

Harold pulled his hand away for a second. John heard the snap of the lubricant bottle opening, before he felt Harold's hand parting his cheeks again and a finger breach his opening, gently seeking out the small bump of his prostate, rubbing against it. John couldn’t contain his moan of pleasure, that had Harold whispering against his hair, “That feel good, more?” John didn’t say anything just pushed back against that hand.

A second finger, then a third joined the first, adding more lube, stretching him open along with more rubbing against his prostrate, until he was ready to scream or flip Harold on his back and impale himself on that hard cock that had been pressing into his hip.

“Do it…now…please!?”

Harold pulled his fingers out, laid back a bit. John felt him open the foil pack, roll a condom on. The smaller man's weight was nothing as he rolled himself over on John’s back. Harold reached down, positioning his cock head at Reese’s opening and pushed it in, then moved his hands under John’s shoulders, using them to then pull himself all the way in.

John wasn’t expecting to be filled balls deep in one push. It burned a little, but the feeling of being filled by his lovers cock, all of it, felt so damn good, he hardly noticed it. Harold had stopped moving, before being urged on by his mate's, “I’m okay, love me now, fuck me.”

Harold couldn’t thrust with his bad hip, but made up for it using his arms to pull and push his body moving his cock in and out of John. Reese felt him try to go slowly but after the first pull and thrust, Harold couldn’t contain himself, his movements became almost desperate with the need to spill himself. It was only a few frantic push and pulls of his body, before John felt him tense, and moan his release.

Harold rested his sweat covered forehead on John’s shoulder blades breathing heavily, “John…that was—Oh?—You haven’t…Can you move with me—on our left sides?” Harold rolled left and John along with him, until they both were lying on their sides, still connected, Harold's cock semi-flaccid.

Harold slid his left arm under his partner's body; he reached over John with his right arm and wrapped his right hand around John’s erection. He stroked its hardness from base to head in time with his thrusting into John once more, his own shaft hardened again with each push. John’s hand joined Harold’s; while both their hands worked his cock, John pushed his ass against Harold's groin to meet Harold’s thrusts into him. Only a few strokes brought John off; he whined high in his throat as thick streams of his semen covered both their hands. The muscles of his opening tightened around Harold's cock as he came which pushed Harold over the edge again too.

Pulling his now softening cock out of John, Harold rolled onto his back, trying to catch his breath, rasping out, “I doubt I have ejaculated twice like this in years. That's how much I wanted you.”

John rolled onto his other side, and then looked at his lover. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just don’t you ever try to push me away again, I love you John.” Harold reached down to remove the overfilled condom and tossed it in the trash. Looking at John earnestly he warned, “Never again,” before pulling his lover down for a kiss.

“Never” John kissed him back. “I love you too.”

John got up just long enough to get something to clean them up. Once that was done they both lay on their backs in the dark, John on Harold's right: hands clasped, their fingers intertwined.

“Harold...we only had sex once before..before... this was the first time we ever had intercourse and both times were ... amazing ... you should know that ...”John said softly and squeezed his lover's hand.

Harold ran his thumb across the knuckles of John's hand. “Thank you ... I think. Why do I have the feeling this is more than just a compliment?”

John breathed in but only said, “Never mind. It's nothing.”

Harold sighed, “John, ask me!”

“Well,” John stammered, “You never had sex with a man before me. How did you know how to do what we just did?”

“What?” Harold yelped and then started laughing. “We have cable TV and the internet.”

John was quiet for a few seconds and then joined in. Soon after they fell asleep, spooned together, Harold holding tight to John’s hand.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a wedding with two surprise witnesses in Harold's second best friend and her beau


	18. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t a big ceremony, just Harold and John, their two witnesses, Grace and her fiance in front the Justice of the Peace. They couldn’t have been happier, the newlyweds Harold and John Richards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys get married, Grace has a new boyfriend and a new best friend...Harold.
> 
> Yeah the odds of Grace meeting Harold's long lost step brother in New York City are about a gazillion to one but WTH?
> 
> [live journal](http://bluefinchone.livejournal.com/16807.html)

_Two years ago_

It wasn’t a big ceremony: just Harold, John, and their two witnesses—Grace and her fiance—in front of the Justice of the Peace. They couldn’t have been happier, the newlyweds Harold and John Richards.

Grace had come to Harold’s home the day after the two men had slept together. She had talked to both of them and released Harold from his promise to keep trying. I will always care about you, but my Harold died three years ago. I am able to move on now. I have been seeing someone. I know you have someone new now too Harold; I understand.

Earlier that morning as they still lay together, Harold had finally gotten John to tell him the reason he kept trying to push him away. John told him about how he was calling out for Grace while under sedation.

Harold had remembered the laughing woman and calling her Grace. “It was a dream, John; now that it’s come back to me, she wasn’t even Grace.”

John cried as Harold held him, “I thought you still loved her somehow and not me. I almost lost you because of my own stupidity.” Harold just shushed and rocked him.

They didn’t want to hurt Grace because they were together now and then to hear her telling them both she was able to move on. It was a relief to both men.

Harold loved Grace; she had become his best friend, well after John of course, in the months between that day and the wedding. She went with him to plays, museums, art exhibits, things he found he actually liked to go to and John hated.

It made him happy to see her with her new man, Professor James Traxler. They laughed it off at each other’s “Do I know you?” when Grace first introduced them to each other.

It was James who had suggested it at one of their get togethers; there was a farm he knew that was up for sale.

Bear had shown an uncanny ability to guide Harold, heeling always now on the man’s left, away from objects the man couldn’t see on that side. It was the idea of training dogs like Bear to help others like Harold that both men had decided to make a fresh start away from New York, find a place to raise the dogs or adopt others and train them.

John was still keeping Harold hidden, ever watchful for the government goons to come after him again. Moving away from New York was perfect. And would they think to look for a dog trainer and a high school teacher in a small mid-west town?

James told them the farm’s lands were rented out to other farmers in the area, but the farm buildings themselves could be refitted.

They purchased the farm in Iowa, John keeping what he knew about its former owners a secret to himself.

Also that they had paid cash, John had 500 million or so of Harold’s billions; one of Harold’s contingencies had set him up with all of Harold’s assets. Except for the half billion he had kept, the rest was in a trust to keep the mission going.

As for the farm, John was sure the place had changed enough Harold would never remember it aside from the fact that his amnesia was diagnosed now as 99% permanent. I’m taking Harold home. He’ll never know, but I will that Harold's finally home.

_Today_

Harold Richards roused from his sleep letting go of John’s hand. “What time is it, and why is it so cold in here?”

John laughed and sat up shaking the numbness from his arm, again. “Well the heat is off and it snowed last night. I’m going to turn up the heat and you’re going to keep your butt in that bed ‘til it’s warmed up in here. We don’t need to be anywhere for two hours and I don’t want you coming down with pneumonia.”

Harold just harrumphed at the idea of coming down sick; he hadn’t even had a cold in years, but he did stay in bed. John was soon under the covers again with him. They just cuddled together.

John told his husband about the most recent of Bear’s progeny and how the other trainers were pleased at their eagerness and ability to be trained. John was now training his first class of dogs, having finally passed his last dog trainer’s course, and John had to boast how well his _class_ was doing. Not all the dogs were Bear’s relatives or even Malinois. They had shepherds, setters, Labradors and even some shelter rescues they had saved. All of the canines showed promise as guide dogs or assist dogs, even some were being trained as K-9s.

The elder Mr. Richards grumbled about his new class of students at the local high school. Harold was able to pass tests to get his teaching certificate in computer programming. The young people were lazy and would rather spend more time on their I-phones than listen to his lectures. John didn't believe any of Harold’s grousing despite his complaining now. His husband had praised them and truth be told, in the group of the actually quite eager to learn students there might be some young Harolds. The way Harold boasted about some of them, one of them might even build their own machine someday John thought. But he doubted it, really, no one could code like his husband. Harold had never questioned how or where he had learned, he just knew and that was good enough. Mr. Richards just tried to teach his students. And he loved it.

“Well it’s time John.”

“Yeah you get the shower first.”

Thirty minutes later, they grabbed a quick breakfast and went on to start their day.

A quick kiss at the door and,

“I love you Harold.”

“I love you John.”

John left to teach his four footed pupils and Harold his two footed ones—Bear at his side.

_Finis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End
> 
> I loved this story, more than others I've written. It's been rewritten and made better....I hope.  
> If you enjoyed this fic pass the word around.  
> Please???? There could be rewards of lots of chocolate


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